


Overwritten

by Klei



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Brainwashing, Dark Humor, M/M, Yandere Morty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klei/pseuds/Klei
Summary: People liked to think that their minds were some otherworldly force that could never be tampered with, but Rick knew better; the human brain was little more than an absurdly complicated computer, and every last thought was the result of some physical construct that he could modify to suit his whims.  In this case, what he wanted more than anything else in the world was the love of his grandson.  Being the genius that he was, this was a feat well within his capabilities, and he found himself quite pleased with the results....Admittedly, however, Rick could have done without the creepy shrine and constant threats of harm to anyone who dared to so much as sneeze in his general direction.





	1. What's Mine is Mine

Rick had no idea exactly when things had gotten this bad.

"Morty, what the fuck is this?" said Rick, slamming a book down on the kitchen table where Morty was currently working on what appeared to be biology homework.

"Huh?" said Morty, practically jumping out of his seat in response to the sound. His startled visage only grew more alarmed when he finally noticed exactly what it was that Rick was asking him about. 'The Game,' read the cover of the book. 'Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists.' "Oh geez! Hey, wait, what were you doing in my room, anyway?"

"I needed a DNA sample, so I took your sheets," said Rick flatly. Notably, Morty didn't bother to ask what he needed it for; by this point, the only reaction he could muster was a resigned eye roll. "More importantly, Morty, this is the sort of desperate-yet-somehow-predatory shit I expect from Jerry."

"Hey!" called out an indignant Jerry from the living room.

"It's not- I'm not trying to be a creep, I just- I want to know how to get a foot in the door, you know?" insisted Morty. "And anyway, since when do you care about other people's feelings?"

"Since never," said Rick. "I'm just stating the facts."

"What do you want me to say, Rick?" said Morty, blushing furiously. "It's- Women are hard to talk to! They're like some kind of-of social Rubik's Cube!"

Never one to let a bad metaphor slide, Rick popped a portal up on the ceiling. A scrambled, three-by-three Rubik's Cube dropped down from it into his waiting hand, and without ever once breaking eye contact with Morty, Rick proceeded to solve the cube within the space of a minute.

"Okay, Rick, I get it; you're a genius," muttered Morty as he attempted to turn his attention back to his homework. "You know everything, it's all so easy for you, and we should all just-just be grateful a person as smart as you would even talk to us!"

"See, that was clearly sarcasm, but it's also literally the only thing you've said so far that isn't completely wrong," said Rick, setting down the cube in favor of picking up Morty's pick-up book and tossing it in the garbage.

"What the hell, Rick?" said Morty, rocketing up out of his seat to fish it out of the trash can. "You can't just throw out my stuff!"

"I'm not throwing out your stuff," said Rick. "I'm throwing out your garbage."

Morty shot him an irritated look as he retrieved his book and stormed off to return it to his room.

Rick sighed and began fishing through cabinets for a bottle of Beth's wine. Really, there was no point in letting this grate on his nerves as much as it was. After all, the solution to the problem was sitting comfortably in one of the inner pockets of his lab coat. Rick pressed his hand to his hip to confirm that it hadn't slipped out through a hole in the fabric à la _The Polar Express._ Before long, Morty would be throwing that stupid book away of his own volition.

His own frustration with the situation made no sense, and that in and of itself only served to heighten his annoyance. When he called his attachment to Morty irrational, he didn't just mean it in the sense that bonding with others was inherently meaningless (though it was). No, the problem with his relationship with Morty was that not a single one of the thoughts he had about his grandson were grounded in any kind of logic. Hell, even when he tried to boil it down to nitty-gritty biological hang-ups, his feelings remained utterly incomprehensible.

Rick uncorked the wine and took a swig straight from the bottle. Honestly, what kind of a pathetic fuck was he to get genuinely jealous over his grandson's failed love life? That was some teenage girl level emotional stupidity right there, and at least teenagers made sense in a 'budding reproductive desires' sort of way. There was absolutely no evolutionary advantage to wanting to bone his own grandson.

Rick set the bottle of wine down and pulled out his flask. He was gonna need something stronger for this.

* * *

 

People liked to think that their minds were somehow above mere programs and machinery, but Rick begged to differ. At the end of the day, the human brain was just an obscenely complicated computer. Rick had learned to successfully replicate it through a combination of cutting-edge electronics and unique programming algorithms years ago. The sad truth of the matter was that the brain was little more than hardware made of flesh, and every last thought was the result of some physical construct making it so.

And, as with robots, if it was something he could touch, it was something he could modify.

Rick stood outside Morty's room with a syringe in hand. His last attempt at mind modification had not gone particularly well. The date rape serum he'd given Morty to use on Jessica had resulted in the destruction of their entire planet. Biological agents and chemical solutions could be fiddly things when one wasn't careful. They were the right solution for some problems, but definitely not this. He wasn't going to risk something mutating and turning his grandson's brain into mush. (Not that it wasn't already mush.) No, he needed something dependable. Something that could directly rewire parts of Morty's brain by snipping away a few neural connections while building up others.

The syringe, which appeared to be full of gray fluid, was in actuality chock full of nanobots, each one fully equipped for brain surgery and programmed with explicit, painstakingly debugged instructions to reinforce all of Morty's positive thoughts about Rick, in addition to redirecting his feelings for Jessica. All told, he'd spent about three months straight on this particular project, and while regular idiots might not consider that a particularly long amount of time to work on something so complicated, for Rick, it was an absolutely _absurd_ stretch of time. It was very rare for him to be capable of focusing on any one thing for so long before he got bored and had to move on to something else for a while. He couldn't remember working this hard on anything since he invented interdimensional travel, which he supposed said a lot about how badly he wanted this to work.

He took another look at the syringe. This was it. All those long hours spent on hardware tests and unit tests and _test_ tests… It would all be worth it in the morning, when, at long last, Morty looked at him with the same longing eyes that he did Jessica.

Rick slowly opened the door to Morty's room. He'd done this enough times for smaller things to know that Morty was a heavy sleeper, but something about this particular project had his heart beating rapidly beneath his ribs as he tiptoed closer to the unconscious lump he called a grandson.

With a deep, quiet breath, Rick lined up the syringe with Morty's neck. Was he really doing this? Was he _actually_ going to modify his grandson's brain to suit his fucked-up desires? Of all of the messed-up stuff he'd done over the years, this had to come pretty fucking close to the top of the list. There were some who would say that even killing a person wasn't quite as bad as robbing them of agency.

But then, it wasn't like he was taking away Morty's free will, or anything. In the grand scheme of life, who a person fell in love with was such a tiny thing. Really, in a lot of ways, he was doing Morty a _favor._ Instead of some silly, unrequited crush on a girl he had almost nothing in common with, he would instead fall head over heels in love for someone who he already knew; someone who would actually lo- err, _want_ him back. Yes, it was manipulation, but in many ways, it was _mercy._

Pffffffft. As if.

Rick had to catch himself before he ended up laughing out loud at his own excuses and waking Morty up. How long had it been since he'd felt so guilty about something that he'd attempted to justify it as being 'the right thing to do?' What nonsense. Nothing about this wasn't objectively terrible. He was a shitty person doing a shitty thing for selfish reasons, just like always.

Undeterred by morality, Rick plunged the needle into Morty's neck and injected the nanobots. Tomorrow, he would be too busy enjoying the fruits of his labor to waste time wallowing in guilt about it.

* * *

 

Morty groaned as the alarm clock shrieked its daily announcement that the morning had, in fact, arrived. He blearily groped around for the off button, then rolled himself out of bed. Where was he? Still in his own room? If he wasn't currently in space on an adventure, then that meant there was at least a fifty percent chance that he would actually get to go to school. Yawning, Morty began rifling through his closet for some jeans and a yellow t-shirt, then grabbed his schoolbag from its spot in the corner.

As he descended down the steps, Morty couldn't help but notice a strange soreness in his neck. Had he slept in an awkward position last night? He rolled his shoulders in an effort to combat it, but to no avail. It seemed he would just have to wait it out.

Initially, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Beth was already away at work. Jerry, presumably bored of sitting around doing nothing, had gone outside to mow the lawn. Morty grabbed a box of cereal from one of the cabinets and poured himself a bowl.

_BOOM!_

Morty didn't so much as flinch from the noise in the garage, nor did he react upon seeing Rick burst through the door connecting the two rooms to escape the black cloud chasing him into the kitchen. His grandfather coughed and gasped for breath as he shuffled his way through the room to take a seat at the table across from Morty. He was positively covered in some unknown, soot-like substance; the spikes of his soft, pale blue hair were clumped together with gunk, and his pretty white lab coat probably would have been ruined were it not for the fact that Rick had designed them to be stain-proof.

…Wait, pretty? Morty shook his head and took another bite of cereal. He knew he shouldn't have masturbated to that video with the sexy redheaded chemist the other day; now he couldn't even look at his own grandpa's lab coat without being reminded of it. It was a good thing Rick couldn't see his fleeting thoughts, because Morty knew all too well that he would never have let him live that one down.

"Good morning, Rick," said Morty through a mouthful of cereal. He watched with mild bemusement as Rick grabbed a handful of napkins to wipe off his face and eyes.

Rick didn't grace him with a proper greeting, opting to instead acknowledge him with a look of annoyance. "There's nothing about this morning that makes it inherently better than any other morning, Morty."

"Is- I guess I always kind of thought it was more like an 'I hope you have a good morning' sort of thing," said Morty. "I don't think it's saying, you know, 'This morning is already amazing.' "

"What difference does it make either way?" said Rick tossing the used-up napkin at the trashcan. It missed and hit the floor, but he didn't bother standing to pick it up. "Do you think the morning is going to be better just because you ask it, Morty? It's-it's not a conscious entity that can understand and fulfill your wishes. It's an inherently intangible concept, Morty!"

So many big words in one sentence. Only Rick could sound so natural saying something like that out loud. Morty smiled despite himself.

"Yeah, I-I guess it is pretty stupid, huh?" said Morty.

Even covered in filth, Morty had to admit that Rick evoked more of a 'sexy chimney sweep' vibe than a 'creepy mad scientist' one, even if the latter was a better description of him as a person. Well, 'mad' in the grumpy way, at least; for all Rick's many psychological issues, he wasn't the type of person to cackle manically over a corpse he'd brought back to life. Morty couldn't help but snicker at the mental image this thought generated in his head.

"What's so funny?" asked Rick.

"Nothing," said Morty, stirring his spoon around his cereal, unable to tear his eyes away from Rick's. How long was he going to leave his hair all messed up like that? "I was just thinking that you should, uh, you should probably shower."

"No point until the garage is cleaned up," said Rick, noticing the direction of Morty's gaze and attempting to thread his fingers through his own hair to assess the damage. "Unless _you_ wanna clean it."

"Okay," said Morty without really thinking. Wait, what? First of all, the bus was going to show up in a half an hour. Second of all, why would he want to clean up Rick's mess? "You should go, you know, get some rest, Rick. It's-it's-it's not healthy for you to stay up doing science stuff all night."

What? _What?_

Rick snorted derisively. "Ninety percent of what I do isn't 'healthy,' Morty. But fine, since- If it matters so much to you, I'll go shower."

He stood up to leave. Morty, too, raced through his cereal so he could hopefully make at least a decent dent in the cleaning before the bus showed up. Why had he agreed to this, again? He just hadn't been able to help himself. Rick had seemed so tired. If one didn't know him, they might have assumed the bags under his eyes were just wrinkles, but Morty had spent enough time around Rick to know what was just age and what was an indicator that he'd stayed up all night. Hopefully, he would take some time to rest while Morty was at school.

* * *

 

Morty barely managed to catch the bus on time. Fortunately, Summer managed to delay departure by complimenting the driver's watch and striking up a brief conversation before boarding. Less fortunately, not only did Morty now owe his sister a favor, but the process of cleaning the garage had left him covered in the same gunk that Rick had been engulfed with earlier.

Summer shot him a weird look, but didn't question it before hurrying off to join her friends at the back. Morty took his usual spot in one of the empty seats at the front, where there were fewer directions for bullies to harass him from.

'Fewer' unfortunately did not mean 'none,' and two of the kids in the seat behind him stood up and leaned over to comment on his appearance as the bus began to roll onwards to the next stop:

"The fuck happened to you?" snickered Generic, Poorly Characterized, Moderately Overweight, Acne-Ridden Bully Number One.

"Did your grandpa use you in another experiment, Lab Rat?" asked Snot-Nosed, Short and Skinny, Possibly-Up-For-Redemption-In-a-Later-Arc Bully Number Two. "You gonna grow a bunch of tentacles again?"

Damn, he was never gonna live down the tentacle incident, was he? Morty pressed his face against the window and exhaled, his breath clouding up the glass.

"Careful!" teased Bully One. "Your breath might be some kind of toxic gas that melts the bus!"

"Don't scare him!" snickered Bully Two. "If he shits himself, his turds might mutate into a monster!"

Morty rolled his eyes, more annoyed by their words than anything else. He'd been through too many near-death experiences to let a couple idiots hurt him with words. It was honestly difficult for him to imagine something they could say that would actually-

"You wanna go home and cry to your weird grandpa?" said Bully One. "Must be nice to know you come from a long, proud line of total freaks!"

And with those words, Morty could take it no longer. He spun around to kneel backwards in his seat and roughly seized Bully One by the lapels of his shirt, the fury of a collapsing star smoldering in his eyes.

"What the _fuck_ did you just say?" hissed Morty.

"Hey!" said Bully One, doing his best to pry the hands off of him, but with all the times that Morty had been stuck climbing or clinging for his life, there was no escape from his vise grip.

"Don't you _ever_ fucking call Rick a freak!" growled Morty, a line that left the whole bus in stunned silence, watching the scene with rapt attention. "My grandpa could _mop the floor_ with your sorry ass, _literally!_ He-he-he could _mutate you into a living mop_ just for the sake of wordplay!"

Bully Two laughed. "Pfffft! 'What-what-what's' the matter, Lab Rat?" he asked, mockingly mimicking Morty's stutter. "Are you wowwied we're gonna huwt gwandpa's feewings?"

Morty grabbed a fistful of the second bully's hair and _ripped_ it clean off of his scalp. The now-partially-bald teenager let out an eardrum-shattering shriek of pain and horror as Morty threw the clump to the floor and plopped himself back down in his seat.

"I don't get paid enough for this," muttered the bus driver, taking a moment at the stoplight to don a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

* * *

 

If anyone asked him about it, Rick would tell them that Morty had done a terrible job of cleaning the garage. However, he couldn't lie to himself; Morty's handiwork was impressive, especially considering the limited timeframe. The counter had been wiped clean, his chemistry glassware had been properly sterilized, and his computer had been polished off with electronic wipes.

The mere fact that Morty was capable of basic lab maintenance, however, was hardly noteworthy; he'd spent enough time around Rick that it would have been stranger for him _not_ to know how to clean a beaker. No, the _real_ kicker was that he'd volunteered at all. Rick had expected him to be a little more accommodating, but not necessarily eager to assist. As it was, though, he'd all but shooed Rick off to go get some rest. Rick wasn't sure he could even remember a time when someone had said something like that to him since he was a child. It was pretty patronizing. He would have to tell Morty to knock it off.

…Well, okay, maybe it was _kind of_ nice.

And so, while Morty was out at school, Rick put the pieces together for his next invention, eager to do something new for the first time since he'd started Project 'My Morty.' The hours ticked by quickly, and before he knew it, Rick heard the sound of the bus rolling up to the stop. It wasn't long before Summer strolled up through the open garage door to take a peek at what he was doing. As usual, Rick pretended to be annoyed while secretly reveling in the fact that his family found his work interesting enough to be curious about.

"What'cha working on?" asked Summer, leaning against the counter.

"Weapons of mass destruction," said Rick curtly. Wait a minute, if Summer was here… "Where's Morty?"

"Detention," said Summer.

"Detention?" repeated Rick in disbelief. _"Morty?_ For-for-for what?"

"Yeah, I was gonna ask you about that, actually," said Summer, giving him a strange look. "I guess some dumbass on the bus called you and Morty freaks, and he just sorta snapped and ripped the guy's hair off." Holy shit. "You're not giving him some weird testosterone or steroid shit that would make him all moody, are you?"

Rick scowled. "Oh, Morty finally gets fed up with being the school punching bag, so clearly I'm- it's somehow my fault, right?"

Summer shrugged and began heading to the door. "Nine times out of ten."

She was right, of course, but Rick wasn't about to let her know that, choosing to instead flip the bird at her as she departed. Rick combed his fingers through his hair and frowned. That _probably_ wasn't entirely the fault of the nanobots, right? Morty had always been a little bundle of repressed angst and rage. Even if the nanobots were the spark that ignited the inferno, there had been a metaphorical gas leak going on in his head for quite some time. It wasn't a cause for concern, so Rick got back to work.

He lasted about five minutes before grabbing his portal gun off the shelf to go collect his grandson from school. Not because he was actually _worried_ that his nanobots had melted Morty's brain, of course! He just needed someone to pass him tools so he didn't have to constantly walk back and forth across the room.

Rick stepped out of the portal into what he recognized as Morty's math classroom. It was mostly empty save for a few scattered souls and Mr. Goldenfold keeping watch. Morty himself was sitting off in a corner, twiddling his thumbs and clearly trying to avoid eye contact with another, angry-looking teenager who appeared to be missing a large patch of hair off the top of his head.

"Morty!" addressed Rick. Morty turned his head. "Come on, let's go."

Mr. Goldenfold stood up. "I'm sorry, but I can't just let-"

Rick set a vial down on the desk in front of him. "Here, this makes people more susceptible to suggestion. Put a few drops in your boss' coffee and ask for a raise."

"Are you kidding? I've got a marriage to get back together!" said Mr. Goldenfold, swiping the vial and making a break for the door. "Detention's over, you're all free to go!"

As the other high schoolers headed for the door, Rick grabbed Morty by the arm and dragged him back through the portal.

"Oh geez," said Morty as the portal vanished behind them. "Thanks for getting me out of detention, Rick. I-I-I don't know what came over me."

Rick shrugged. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. At least you didn't shoot up the school, right?"

Morty went pale. "What? No! I-I-I would never do that!" He hesitated. "Right?"

"The fact that you're asking me means you think it's possible some other Morty might have done it, and if _you_ think it's possible for you to be pushed to that point, it's probably happened in at least a handful of dimensions," said Rick with a dismissive handwave. "More importantly, Morty, I need you to shine a flashlight into this robot so I can see what I'm doing."

"Oh. Right," said Morty, looking fearfully contemplative.

* * *

 

Thanks to Rick's intervention, Morty hadn't spent long in detention, but in the fifteen minutes or so that he'd actually been there, he'd had a lot to think about.

The school day had been an unusual one. Things had started off normally enough, aside from the whole 'getting detention for tearing someone's hair out' business. It wasn't until he'd accidentally bumped into Jessica on his way to his first class that things had taken a strange turn. The collision had caused her to drop all her books to the floor, and naturally, Morty stammered out an apology and bent down to help her pick them up. The funny thing was, he hadn't actually felt nervous at all, at least not beyond what he would have felt bumping into anyone else.

After they'd gone their separate ways, Morty had found that the more he thought about it, the more he was struggling to remember why he'd been nervous in the first place. Was it because he was trying to impress her? Why? Because he liked her? _Did_ he even like her that much? Morty struggled to remember just what it was he loved about her that wasn't completely superficial. He still found her attractive, to be sure, but it was almost like the layers of obsession built up in his mind had been stripped away.

Morty frowned. Was it even possible to fall completely out of love with someone overnight?

Things only got stranger when it came time for class. Ordinarily, he'd spend his time daydreaming about Jessica, but with his interest gone, that was no longer enough to keep him occupied. Instead, he was left wondering what Rick was up to. Would he pop in to drag him off on another adventure today? Or would Morty get to spend the rest of the day at school learning about quadratics and the limbic system and such?

Really, for as much as Rick could annoy him, Morty couldn't help but find him a comforting presence. Sure, his grandpa didn't give a fuck about his personal problems, but then, neither did anyone else, really, and at least Rick enjoyed spending time with him. In a lot of ways, he was Morty's only friend in the world, a thought that didn't depress Morty nearly as much as it probably should have. And the adventures they went on together? They weren't ALL bad. Some of them were actually kind of fun. It certainly didn't hurt that Rick wasn't all that bad to look at…

Wait. What?

And so, Morty had spent the rest of the school day coming to terms with the fact that, yes, his grandfather was actually pretty attractive. He wasn't weird just for noticing, right? It was completely possible to realize that a person was attractive without actually being attracted to them, just like how a straight guy was capable of picking a hot dude out of a lineup of average or ugly ones. In the same way, he was merely recognizing that, to a gay man or a straight woman, his grandfather was Hot with a capital H.

It was on this line of thought that Rick had shown up and picked him up from detention. And now, as Morty stood at his grandpa's side with a flashlight in hand, it was beginning to become impossible to deny the stirring in his loins. Their close proximity had his heart racing, and the smell of sweat and alcohol emanating from his lab coat had Morty wanting to press his face against the fabric and just _inhale._

"Rick…" he murmured unconsciously.

"What?" said Rick, looking annoyed.

"Huh? Oh! Nothing, sorry," said Morty quickly, doing his best to focus on Rick's hands as he twisted screws and soldered wires. There was nothing sexy about hands, right? Slender, bony hands masterfully working machinery, all smothered in oil and grease…

Morty squeezed his knees together. Shit, he was actually getting a fucking boner! Shit, shit, _shit!_

"I have to go to the bathroom!" he said, slamming down the flashlight and racing out of the room.

* * *

 

Morty was so obvious, it was almost painful to watch.

Rick grabbed a paper towel to wipe his hands clean while Morty raced off to take care of the obvious bulge in his pants. He took a moment to congratulate himself for a job well done on the nanobots, which had clearly been a great success; not only was Morty attracted to him, but there didn't seem to be any unforeseen side effects. Rick couldn't help the smile that worked its way across his lips.

_Finally._

At long last, Morty would be his and his alone. Oh, not just yet, though. He wasn't going to rush into things. Rick wanted to _savor_ this. He wanted to see Morty _pine_ for him; wanting him, _needing_ him, but too fearful of the taboo to make a move. And then, just when he was about to be driven insane by longing, Rick would mercifully step in, reveal that he had known about Morty's crush the whole time, and agree to humor his lust and affection.

It was perfect. He would get everything he ever wanted, and Morty would never even have to know just how truly, desperately in love with him Rick actually was. Rick finished up what he was doing and set down his screwdriver. And to think that there were people who honestly believed in concepts like 'karma' or 'divine justice!' He'd just gotten away with modifying his own grandson's brain to fulfill his incestuous, pedophilic desires. And yeah, he felt a _little_ guilty, but it was almost immediately numbed by the sheer high of knowing that no force in the universe was capable of stopping him.

"I'm back," said Morty several minutes later, crotch-bulge mysteriously absent. If he'd beaten one off in the bathroom, he'd finished up incredibly quickly. Morty reached for the flashlight, then stopped upon noticing that Rick had already completed his project. "Oh. Sorry, Rick."

"Whatever," said Rick with a dismissive hand wave. "I'm gonna go watch a movie. You in?"

Morty nodded a little too vigorously. "Yeah, I- Okay!"

It didn't take long to get to the living room, steal the remote control from Jerry, and pick out a movie from the interdimensional equivalent of Netflix. Rick made it a point to sit on the very end of the sofa just so he could see where Morty would set his thirsty ass down. He expected Morty to stay on the far end so he could cover up any further boners, but his grandson managed to surprise him by scooting up as close to Rick as humanly possible without making physical contact. Either he was incredibly confident that his refractory period would last the duration of the movie, or he was still too stupid to realize that the thing that had him so aroused all of a sudden was actually Rick.

Or, as Rick was coming to believe as the movie progressed and Morty leaned steadily closer, he was just a little more forward than Rick had given him credit for.

"Jesus, Morty, could I get a little personal space?" said Rick as Morty, in full view of his own father, leaned his body up against his grandfather's.

"Oh, right," said Morty quickly, sitting up straight and focusing his attention entirely on the movie. "I wasn't really thinking- I mean, I just kind of- Sorry."

"If you're falling asleep, just go to bed and take a nap," said Jerry, still visibly bitter about having the remote wrestled out of his hands earlier. "We'll call you down for dinner."

"I'm not- Never mind," said Morty, wisely realizing that it was for the best to let his dad think he'd just been nodding off.

The rest of the movie passed without incident. As the credits rolled, Jerry wandered off to go bother Beth in the kitchen while she worked on dinner, leaving Rick and Morty alone to chat about the film.

"Well, I thought it was pretty good," said Morty. "What about you, Rick?"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you _would_ like that sort of thing, wouldn't you?"

Morty frowned. "I dunno, I-I-I thought the plot twist was pretty cool."

"Oh, please, Morty, I saw that coming a _mile_ away," said Rick. In truth, he'd been just as surprised as Morty was, but he couldn't just admit to that; he had a reputation to uphold. "I mean, he was a handsome young man with a mysterious past in a movie where we know there's a prince missing. It would have been more surprising if he _hadn't_ been royalty."

"I guess," said Morty, who looked way more bummed out by Rick's commentary than usual. Just when Rick was about to comfort him (a word which, to Rick, meant 'chew him out for being a pussy'), the reason was made clear: "So, uh, you thought he was handsome?"

Fortunately, Rick was the master of maintaining his poker face, because the idea of Morty being jealous of a character in a movie that Rick had just off-handedly complimented for the sake of making a point was as hilarious as it was bizarrely heartwarming.

"Yeah, what about it?" said Rick, switching off the television. "Don't tell me that bothers you."

"No, I- No!" said Morty quickly, incorrectly interpreting Rick's words as an accusation of homophobia. That was fine; Rick never got tired of watching him squirm. "I-I-I just don't think he was all that great, is all."

A better person would have let it drop, but Rick was the sort of man who wanted to fuck his own underage grandson, sooooooo… "Are you kidding me, Morty? That guy looked like he could bench a tree."

Morty's cheeks went red. "I mean, yeah, he looked pretty strong, but, like…"

"Oh, I get it," said Rick teasingly. "You prefer twinks, huh?"

The look on Morty's face as he fumbled about for the right words to express his feelings without necessarily letting the real reason behind his words slip out was priceless. Rick was briefly tempted to whip out his phone and snap a photo, but unfortunately, the expression faded almost as quickly as it came on.

"All I'm saying is that he's way beneath your league, you know?"

Holy shit, if this went on any longer, Rick was gonna start corpsing. _"Beneath_ my league?"

"Yeah, like- You know, he's not good enough for you!"

Rick raised half of his unibrow, intrigued. "Really, now? Well, while I'm-" He belched. "-flattered that you think so highly of me, Morty, I'd sure like to know something; if-if that guy is _under_ my league, who's _in_ it?"

Morty's hesitation to answer that question said it all. Luck seemed to be smiling on him, however, and he was saved from having to provide a response:

"Dad, Morty! Dinner!" called Beth.

"Coming!" called Morty, all too eager to exit the conversation.

* * *

 

Dinner was Rick's first indication that something was wrong.

Things started out normally enough. Beth had prepared spaghetti (even though Jerry had been home all day and should have been the one to put dinner together), Summer was texting her friends at the table, and Morty looked too lost in his own thoughts to do much more than idly pick at his food.

"So," began Jerry in an awkward attempt to break the silence. "How was school today?"

"Morty got detention," said Summer without looking up from her phone.

"Summer!" said Morty, irritated. "Seriously?"

"Wait, what? What happened?" demanded Beth.

"Some guy on the bus called him a freak, and he just straight-up reached over and ripped his hair out," said Summer. "It was actually pretty badass."

"Morty," said Jerry sternly. "What did we teach you about responding to insults with violence? 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.' "

"Jerry, saying words can't hurt is like saying waterboarding isn't torture. Don't be that guy," said Rick. "All that having been said, Morty, that _was_ a bit of an overreaction."

"You don't understand!" insisted Morty. "It wasn't just me they called a freak! They were making fun of Rick, too!"

"Aww, so you were just defending your grandpa?" said Beth, her angry eyes rapidly softening.

"Defending his- Did you not hear the part where he ripped another kid's hair out?" asked Jerry, clearly still concerned.

"It's not like it won't grow back," scoffed Beth.

Rick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no offense, Morty, but I don't really need you to defend my honor against a bunch of sweaty high schoolers."

Morty ducked his head. "I know, but I couldn't just let them run their mouths. They-they don't get to say those things about you. They shouldn't get to talk about you at all! They don't deserve it!"

"Okay, you worded that kind of weirdly," said Jerry.

"Don't be jealous, Jerry," scolded Beth.

"But it's not just me, right? That was definitely a weirdly specific thing to say!" insisted Jerry, and for once, Rick was inclined to agree.

"None of you get it!" said Morty, slamming his hands down on the table and standing up. The rest of the family stared at him with wide, shocked eyes as he stormed off out of the kitchen, his food practically untouched.

"Okay, _now_ can we agree that something's up?" said Jerry.

"It's called 'puberty,' Jerry. We got through it with Summer, and we'll get through it again," said Beth, taking a long, _long_ sip of wine while Summer glared at her from behind her phone.

For the moment, Rick chose to believe that Beth was right, and that this was just a symptom of Morty's raging teenage hormones pushing him to assert himself in stupid ways. After all the testing he'd done, Rick refused to believe that his nanobots were the culprit. All he'd done was redirect and reinforce a few synapses; nothing major. It hardly even qualified as brain surgery.

No, Rick decided, this _definitely_ wasn't his fault.

* * *

 

For the next several days, life seemed to go on as normal, save for the fact that Morty seemed to be enjoying Rick's company much more than usual. Rather than go off to his room to mess with his laptop, he took to hanging out in the garage to watch Rick work and chat about nonsense.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Rick had asked the first time, even though he'd known the answer. He just wanted to hear how Morty excused it.

"I just- You know, I was hoping I might learn something," Morty had responded all too hastily. "I mean, school is just a waste of time, right, Rick?"

Rick, for his part, did his best to feign annoyance with Morty's senseless nonsense. He got more than his fill of it over long spaceship trips and some of their more tedious adventures. Secretly, however, he was more than happy to listen to his grandson go on about all of the dumb shit he was into, and only occasionally interjected to tell Morty what a moron he was being. Occasionally, Morty would ask him a question, and Rick would answer in language that was intentionally way over his grandson's head simply so he could enjoy his dumbfounded expression before dramatically rolling his eyes and rephrasing his words in a way that even the dumbest idiot could understand.

Everything was going exactly according to plan, and Rick found himself feeling confident enough in Morty's mental stability to go out for a weekend adventure. He'd been pleasantly surprised by Morty's enthusiasm.

"So, uh, where to today, Rick?" asked Morty while Rick stocked his lab coat with gear.

"The Griddleborp Desert," answered Rick. "Some monk has a jeweled spider capable of turning water into booze. I don't think I need to explain to you why I want it."

Ordinarily, this would be the point where Morty expressed ambivalence about the adventure, or even questioned what was in it for him, but instead, he just smiled and nodded. "Makes sense! Let's do this!"

Rick popped a portal on the wall.

* * *

 

The monk they were looking for lived in a palatial monastery where jewels were encrusted into just about everything, and as they strolled up to the front, Morty couldn't help but run his mouth.

"Isn't this kind of over-the-top for a place where monks live?" said Morty.

"In this dimension, gems are as common as dirt," said Rick. "This building is their equivalent of a log cabin."

"Really?" said Morty. "Why-why don't we just take some of those and sell them back home?"

"Because most of them don't _exist_ on our planet, Morty," said Rick. "If we tried to sell them, people would start noticing, and then they'd start questioning where we found them, and then it would be a whole 'look at these people who discovered these amazing rocks!' thing, and-and-and grandpa doesn't want to deal with nosy geologists, Morty!"

He knocked on the door, and was greeted by a short, chubby bald man in a robe covered in fine jewelry.

"Ah, yes," said the monk, stepping back and gesturing for them to come in. "You must be here about the spider."

"As if there's any other reason to come out here," said Rick, following the monk inside. Morty trailed after him, looking around the spacious building with wide, fascinated eyes.

As they reached the back, the monk knelt down on a fluffy rug in front of them, then motioned for them to do the same on the splintery wooden plank in front of him. Morty reluctantly complied and squirmed uncomfortably all the while. Rick, who'd padded out his pant legs with enough Boogleborg wool to make any surface comfortable, followed suit.

"To earn the spider, you must demonstrate your worthiness through three impossible trials," said the monk, setting two bowls down in front of him. He filled one with smooth black stones. "First, you must move all of the rocks from one bowl to the next without touching them."

Almost before he finished speaking, Rick grabbed the bowl itself and dumped the rocks out of it into the other bowl. What kind of grade-school level bullshit was this?

"Excellent," said the monk, putting the bowls aside and pulling what appeared to be a grain of rice out of his pocket. "Now, you must take this grain of rice from my-"

Rick whipped a freeze ray out of his lab coat and blasted the monk, who immediately stiffened up, his whole body covered in an icy glaze. After successfully prying the chilled grain from his hand, Rick deactivated the device.

"-hand," finished the monk, only to notice Rick holding up the grain of rice with a bored look on his face. "Hmph. Very well. It is time for the third task," said the monk, holding out his hand. "You must now beat me at thumb wrestling!"

Rick and Morty both stared at him like he'd grown a third head.

"You're shitting me," said Rick.

"Wait, what?" said Morty. "That, uh, that doesn't sound very mystical."

The monk shrugged. "I don't make the rules, I just follow them. Thumb wrestling time!"

Rick begrudgingly extended his hand.

"One, two, three, four!" said the monk. "I declare a thumb war!"

With the cybernetic enhancements in his hand, victory here was a trivial process. As soon as Rick's thumb was on top of the monk's, it was already over.

The monk looked positively shocked by this loss. "…Best two out of three?"

Rick decided to allow it just so he could enjoy crushing the man's confidence further. Before he knew it, eight rounds had passed, and the monk's thumb was battered and broken.

"I see…" said the monk, cradling his thumb and clearly struggling to hold back tears. "At last, I have my final verdict!"

"It's about time," said Rick. "Give us the spider already."

"My verdict is…" began the monk dramatically. "You are _not_ worthy!"

'Bullshit!' Rick was about to say, but Morty, as it turned out, was way ahead of him.

"What?" said Morty, eyes narrowing. "What the _fuck_ did you just say?"

"You're not worthy," repeated the monk. "Nice try, thanks for playing! Hope you have a nice- HRK!"

Morty had jumped forward and pinned him to the ground, his hands wrapped around the man's neck.

"Not worthy?" hissed Morty as the monk struggled beneath him. _"NOT WORTHY?_ My grandpa is the _definition_ of worthy, you son of a bitch!" He punched the monk in the face, and he cried out in pain. "You should be grateful he even agreed to play your stupid games!"

"Okay, Morty, maybe you should calm-" began Rick, but Morty was on a rampage now. He _slammed_ the monk's head against the floor, and even the fluffy rug wasn't enough to prevent the man's nose from crunching against the solid wood beneath it. Blood poured from his nostrils, staining the carpet.

"No, you don't understand!" cried the monk. "That was the secret final test! You just had to accept the judgment, and then I would have given you the spider!"

"How dare you _breathe the same air_ as him?" roared Morty, slamming his fists repeatedly into the monk's face.

 _"Morty!"_ said Rick, grabbing Morty by the arm and yanking him off of the battered monk. He half expected to have to pull Morty into some stupid cooldown hug, but fortunately for Rick's dignity, his grandson relaxed the moment Rick grabbed him.

"Yeah, Rick?" said Morty in a sweet, innocent voice that was such a far cry from the one he'd been using to scream at the monk with that it almost gave Rick whiplash.

"He's had enough!" said Rick. "Take it easy."

Morty's shoulders drooped as Rick let go of him to check and see if the monk had survived Morty's brutal beating. Fortunately, he was still breathing. Not that Rick cared one way or the other; it was just that dead people couldn't give directions.

"Where's the spider?" asked Rick.

"In-in the back room, on the pedestal," coughed the monk. Rick stood up to walk to the door that had been behind the monk. "The key is-"

Rick blasted the doorknob off with a laser gun.

"Come on, Morty," said Rick.

Morty leaped to his feet. "Coming!"

* * *

 

Rick's third indication that something was wrong came the following morning.

From the time he'd moved in with his daughter, Rick's room had always been a bit of a disaster. The walls were plastered with all manner of things, from concept sketches to blueprints to random formulas. Every surface was covered in various tools and devices for when he dreamed up some incredible idea and couldn't afford to risk letting it fade from his head before he made it to the garage. The closet, however, was by far the worst of the lot; the floor was stacked up with boxes, some of which were stacked high enough that the pants and lab coats on the hangers were partially laying on them.

As the alarm clock blared beside him, Rick greeted the morning with a weary sigh. His bones cracked unpleasantly as he stood, prompting him to grab a handful of pills from one of the nearby bottles and toss them into his mouth like candy. Wearing nothing but a pair of underpants, Rick shuffled over to the closet in search of clothing so he could exit his room and get some coffee without offending Jerry's delicate sensibilities.

Upon opening his closet door, however, Rick couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be a little short on lab coats. Still half-asleep, he rubbed his eyes and counted them out to make sure he wasn't just imagining things. One, two, three, four, five… He remembered losing one in a river that he and Morty had nearly drowned in, but that still should have left him with six.

Naturally, his suspicions immediately went to Jerry. Had he somehow fucked up the laundry badly enough to destroy Rick's lab coat, and was simply hoping its absence wouldn't be noticed? But then, Rick had constructed them to be all but indestructible, and it seemed unlikely that even the meat sack his daughter called a husband could accomplish such an incredible feat of incompetence.

Rick dressed himself in one of his other sets of clothing and grabbed a remote from the shelf at the top of the closet. After checking the tags of the coats that were still present, he input the ID of the one that was missing and activated the homing beacon.

_Ding!_

_"The object you are looking for is approximately eight meters away."_

An arrow popped up on the screen to indicate the direction. Rick's eyes narrowed.

That was _Morty's_ room.

He waited until his grandson had gone downstairs for breakfast before crossing the hallway and slipping into his room in search of his missing lab coat. It wasn't the first time he'd been there, nor was it even the first time that he'd snuck in alone so he could rifle through Morty's things, so he already had a pretty good idea of where to look. Morty was fairly predictable with regards to his hiding spots.

The first place Rick thought to look was under the bed. Nothing too unusual there; just some spare tissue boxes and sizable tubs of Vaseline. It was times like these that Rick was glad he wasn't a teenager anymore; makeshift lubricants would never be as good as the real thing.

The next place was Morty's underwear drawer. Rick lifted up a sloppily-stacked pile of half-folded briefs to find a handful of expired condoms. It was difficult for Rick to decide if that qualified as optimism or pessimism about his odds of getting laid. Not like it mattered anymore, obviously; Rick had been exposed to enough STDs to have a cure for just about everything on Earth, in addition to several hundred more from other planets and dimensions alike. As long as there wasn't any risk of pregnancy, they could just go bareback.

The final location he checked was Morty's closet, and its contents was shocking enough to make his jaw drop.

"What. The. _Fuck?"_

It was like a fucking _stalker shrine._ Sitting on a short table in the center was a surprisingly flattering picture of Rick that Morty must have snapped with his cellphone while he wasn't paying attention. Directly to the left was a photo album; Rick opened it up to find it filled with even more pictures, some of which Morty had taken, and some of which had been stolen from his personal belongings. To the right were some empty cans and bottles of alcohol that Rick could remember Morty politely offering to throw away for him after he finished them off.

The most horrifying aberration by far, however, was the blank, dakimakura-sized pillow sitting in the corner. His missing labcoat had been lovingly stitched to it along with one of his blue shirts, and what appeared to be a wig from an Albert Einstein costume had been sewn to the top of its 'head.' It had black buttons for eyes like something out of Coraline, and its fuzzy blue unibrow was made out of one of those stupid 'magic worm' toys with the googly eyes removed and the string cut off.

Rick shut the closet door and took a step back. Since when had Morty been such a creeper? He'd never done this sort of weird shit when he had a crush on Jessica!

He swallowed. That settled it. It had to be something to do with the nanobots. Rick exited the room and made a beeline for the garage, not even stopping to look at the rest of the family eating breakfast at the table as he passed them.

"What's up with him?" asked Jerry.

"Oh, you know, he's probably busy with something, unlike _some_ people," answered Beth.

Rick pulled up his computer and opened up the application he'd developed to get status updates on the nanobots. No errors appeared to have come up, so he put on a headset opened up a direct line of communication with one of the still-active bots on the list.

"Nanobot Seventy-Two, do you read?" he asked, adjusting the microphone.

 _"Loud and clear!"_ chirped the artificial intelligence through the headphones. _"What's up?"_

"I need you to give me a status report," said Rick. "Morty's acting real fucking weird, and you- I need to know _exactly_ what you've been doing in there."

 _"Okie dokie!"_ said the nanobot. _"So, like, today, Nanobot Thirty-Eight and Nanobot Ninety-Four totally hooked up. Like, they won't admit it, but EVERYONE knows; they're so obv-"_

"I mean what you've been doing to my grandson's brain cells!"

 _"Huh. Yeah, I guess that makes more sense,"_ said the nanobot. _"But really, we've only been doing exactly what you told us to. We redirected all his feelings for Jessica to you, then strengthened all of the positive thoughts Morty already had about you!"_

"Did you stop when you reached the designated max value?" demanded Rick. "Were there any exceptions that weren't transmitted? What about memory leaks?"

 _"Yes, no, and no,"_ said the nanobot. _"We haven't gone berserk or whatever, I promise! We're all just kinda hanging out on standby watching cat videos on the internet until you retrieve us."_

Rick's brow furrowed. "Is there any chance that your WiFi connection is causing the problem?"

 _"Nope, we already checked! The WiFi is safe,"_ the nanobot assured him. _"A good thing, too, since we wouldn't have been able to do our job without it."_

A moment of silence passed between them.

"Excuse me?" said Rick.

 _"Oh, yeah, forgot to tell you,"_ said the nanobot. _"So, like, we were going through all of Morty's thoughts about you in search of good things to reinforce, right? Well, all of a sudden, we came across this one memory…"_

 _  
_ The nanobot played back a recreation of the memory in Morty's voice.

_"He's more like a demon, or a super fucked-up god."_

Rick had absolutely no idea when THAT had been said, but he had a very bad feeling that it had something to do with his current predicament.

 _"Anyway,"_ continued the nanobot. _"You never actually programmed us with any concept of religion, so we had to Google whether it was a good thing or a bad thing, and boy, was it confusing! 'Are demons good?' was simple enough, but then we searched for 'Are gods good?' and man, what a can of worms THAT was! It took us FOREVER to reach the conclusion that association with god is generally considered a positive by human society. We had this whole debate where half of us dedicated ourselves to either side, and Nanobot Sixty-Six STILL hasn't recovered. So anyway, we ended up strengthening the association he has between you and a god, then beefed up all the surrounding religiosity stuff to make sure Morty also saw this as a good thing."_

"Wait, so you're telling me that right now, Morty is acting weird because he sees me as a _god?"_ said Rick slowly.

_"Uh, I dunno what constitutes 'normal' for human behavior, but sure, yeah, probably."_

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was meant to be a quick one-shot to try and take a short break from my current long-runner, but it ended up being too long for that. So now, instead of a long one-shot, it'll be a short multi-chapter fic. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please feel free to leave your honest thoughts in the comments, be they good or bad! I really appreciate all forms of feedback!


	2. What's Yours is Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: You see that little "graphic violence" warning from before? It comes into play this chapter. Be warned.

How had he not realized it sooner?

Morty did his best to focus on his dinner, too nervous to risk lifting his head and meeting his grandfather's gaze. Before, he'd been blind to the truth, but now, it was all so clear to him. This was more than just a crush, it was a _revelation!_ Rick wasn't simply attractive, he was _divine;_ an eldritch deity trapped in human form. He was a force of nature beyond mortal judgment whose will was absolute, and Morty, love, love, _loved_ him! He loved the soft, pale-blue spikes of his hair and the expressiveness of his unibrow. He loved the prominent wrinkles of his face and the look of utter contempt for the world in his eyes. Most of all, though, he loved their special relationship that transcended dimensions.

The prospect of being dragged around and used like a human shield no longer bothered him; he _welcomed_ it, in fact. He was his grandpa's special tool who lived to make his life just a little bit more convenient. He could hardly imagine a higher honor. Well, he could, but it was never going to happen. Rick had never expressed any interest in him as…

Morty quickly excused himself from the table and hurried to his room. He collapsed on his bed and squeezed his legs together, face flushed and breath growing heavy from the mere thought of getting to be his grandpa's _pleasure toy._ (He dared not even dream of being his _lover;_ that would have been a fantasy to end all fantasies.) Morty pressed his face into his pillow and cupped the bulge of his crotch through his pants.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, straining not to touch himself to such sinful thoughts, but how could he not? He had been born to be used by Rick; it was only natural that he would want to serve him in every possible way that he could. He bit down onto his pillow as he unzipped his pants and began furiously stroking his aching sex, his lust so unbearably strong that he was on the verge of tears. It wasn't enough. It would never be _enough!_

Morty stood up, dick still out, and hurriedly pulled his Rick replica out of the closet to set down on his bed. It was just a repurposed body pillow from the internet with some vaguely Rick-like attachments, but the shirt and lab coat were the real deal. He ripped off his pants and straddled his false idol, face pressed against the white lab coat. The scent alone was enough to make him moan, and he furiously humped the pillow, silently wishing he had something to penetrate himself with.

"Grandpa," he gasped softly, his words quiet enough so as to not be heard by his family downstairs. "Mm, ah, I-I-I wanna be your plaything, grandpa. Please, please, _please…"_

More. He needed _more._ Morty grabbed one of the tubs of Vaseline from under his bed and spread a slick glob across his fingers. He'd never actually tried this before, but there was a first time for everything, right? His hand shook nervously as he reached around behind himself to press them against his virgin hole. Morty bit his lip as he slowly, _slowly_ worked the tip of his middle finger inside. It was a strange sensation, to be sure, but not altogether unpleasant. Slowly but surely, he worked it in until it was about as deep as he could physically get it from that position.

Morty took a deep, shaky breath. It wasn't enough. He'd seen Rick's cock enough times to know that it was a lot bigger than one finger. He gently retracted his middle finger and attempted to insert his index finger, as well, but this doubling of even such a meager girth made things significantly harder.

He steeled his determination. If this were the real thing, it wouldn't matter how difficult it was, because it wasn't _for_ him, it was for _Rick._ How could he even dream of being his grandpa's pleasure toy if he couldn't even do this much? He had to take it and _welcome_ the pain as proof of what a nice, tight fit it would be around his grandfather's girth. Morty squeezed his eyes shut and, nose still pressed against the stolen lab coat, and _forced_ the second finger in, even as it felt like he might tear.

"Hnn!" he whimpered. He wanted to give himself a moment to adjust, but no. That would mean Rick would have to _wait,_ and he couldn't do that to his grandfather. Sex toys didn't need to 'adjust,' because sex toys were made for the pleasure of the user. Morty gritted his teeth and mercilessly finger-fucked himself as hard as he could.

Even through the burning pain, his fantasies kept him fully hard and dripping. It was _good_ that it hurt. After all that time wasted on snark and back-talk, he _deserved_ to be reminded of his place. Morty panted heavily as, with his legs still spread on either side of his Rick pillow, he stroked himself with one hand and fucked himself with the other.

 _"Oh,_ Grandpa Rick!" he whimpered. He couldn't afford to risk saying much more when dinner could be over any minute, meaning someone might come upstairs and hear him from the hallway. Instead, he imagined how he'd beg for more, screaming out pleas for his grandpa to use him as hard and as deep as he wanted.

He was so very, _very_ close. He imagined that Rick was close, too. It wouldn't be long now before he was blessed with his grandpa's hot, sticky essence. His eyes rolled upwards into his head as he imagined it coating his insides, filling him with proof of what a good little tool he was for his Rick.

Morty's toes curled as he came, his seed gushing forth like a floodgate had been opened and splattering against the pillow beneath him. For a long moment, he simply sat there with his mouth wide open, panting like a dog as he slowly retracted his fingers.

Shit, now he would have to clean this up.

* * *

 

Rick was in full-on damage control mode.

There was no point in denying it any longer; he'd fucked up, and now Morty saw him as not only a god, but a god that he had a crush on. That wasn't necessarily an indicator that all hope was lost, however. This result hadn't been Rick's original intent, no, because that kind of a mindset could lead to all sorts of weird shit, but if he acted quickly, he could rein it in and keep it in the realm of sexy hero-worship instead of ritual sacrifices performed in his name.

First things first; what fanatical behaviors did he most need to nip in the bud before they cropped up? Anything that could result in his own demise was priority one. In the many, _many_ years he'd been alive, Rick had seen a lot of so-called 'gods trapped in mortal form' get themselves killed in some ritual ceremony by the locals they'd been trying to take advantage of in order to 'free them from their mortal chains.' For that reason, it was pretty fucking high on the list of potential threats to address. A smart person might have recognized that any god who wanted to be 'freed' from their mortal body could just kill _themselves,_ but Morty was not particularly smart, and even if he was, Rick wasn't about to leave that to chance.

Prior to the incident on the bus and Morty's brutal beating of the monk, Rick might have believed the possibility of his grandson trying to 'free' him was his greatest concern. After seeing what Morty was truly capable of, however, he was going to have to figure out some way to get him to fucking chill, because life was going to be incredibly inconvenient if Morty spent every adventure beating people up for minor infractions.

"Hey, Morty!" called Rick, knocking on Morty's bedroom door. After seeing the way Morty had acted when he'd excused himself from dinner, it was pretty clear that his grandson had gone off to jack it, so Rick, ever the gentleman, had waited a generous half an hour after finishing dinner before going to get him. "Come on, we're going on a quick adventure."

There was a sound of rapid shuffling from behind the door. Rick swore he could hear something being dragged across the floor and shoved into storage, followed by the sound of what could only be the closet door being slammed shut. Within less than a minute, a slightly-disheveled Morty all but threw open the door, his eyes sparkling with such adoration that it almost made Rick blush.

"Where to?" asked Morty, following Rick down through the hallway with uncharacteristic cheer.

"To pawn off the booze spider," said Rick, holding up the glittering, gem-encrusted spider that they'd acquired the other day.

Morty's brow furrowed. "I thought you were gonna use that to make alcohol from water."

"Yeah, well, turns out that it only stays alcohol while it's in contact with the spider, so it changes back into water before you're actually drunk, which completely defeats the purpose of drinking in the first place," said Rick. He supposed there were some people who would claim to be in it for the taste, and those people were liars. "Oh, and it's also cursed, so there's that."

Morty looked downright horrified, and for a moment, Rick was concerned he might rip the spider from his hands and smash it in an overprotective rage. "It _cursed_ you?"

"What, you-you think I'm dumb enough to try out some artifact from another dimension on myself?" said Rick, almost offended. "Obviously I tested it on Jerry, first."

"THERE ARE SPIDERS IN MY MOUTH!" screamed Jerry from downstairs, his voice a mixture of panic and open sobbing. "OH GOD, OH JESUS, SOMEONE HELP!"

"There aren't any spiders, Jerry, you're hallucinating!" insisted Beth.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Oh," said Morty, his look of concern gone, though he still eyed the spider warily. A loud crashing noise came from downstairs, and he winced. "Is, uh- Will he be okay?"

Rick shrugged. "Probably. That guy is like a bedbug infestation. You might be able to get rid of him if you burn everything to the ground in the process, but he isn't gonna go away accidentally."

Morty's eyes, which had seemed sympathetic to his father's plight mere seconds earlier, suddenly glazed over with a strange look. Rick knew that face. He'd seen it in the mirror countless times. It was the look of someone actively and knowingly kicking their moral compass to the curb so they could get something done, and it was as hot as it was terrifying.

"Do you _want_ him to go away, Rick?" asked Morty.

Okay. So Morty was quite possibly not just capable of beating people up, but of straight-up murdering them if Rick implied that he wanted them gone. This was escalating far more quickly than Rick had initially anticipated.

Rick couldn't bring himself to straight-up answer 'no,' but he also couldn't have Morty gutting Jerry to placate him. "Well, yeah, but it'd be more trouble than it's worth to deal with the fallout. The divorce was bad enough. I don't think any of us want a sequel to that mess."

Morty visibly relaxed, laughing awkwardly as though he hadn't clearly been prepared to murder his own father at Rick's behest. "Yeah."

"THEY'RE IN MY EYES! MY EEEEEEEEYES! AAAAAAAAAAH!" shrieked Jerry.

"Clearly it's not that big of a deal if you're well enough to do outdated Nicholas Cage references!" said Beth.

"IT'S NOT A REFERENCE, THEY'RE REALLY IN MY EYES!"

Summer raced up the stairs just as Rick popped a portal on the wall.

"Please, for the love of God, _take me with you,"_ pleaded Summer.

"We're just going to a pawn shop," said Rick.

"Anywhere is better than here!" she assured him.

"NOW THEY'RE IN MY PANTS! I HAVE TO TAKE THEM OFF!"

"Jerry, nothing is in your pants, you _really_ don't need to- Uhg."

"That's fair," said Rick, gesturing to the portal. "After you."

Summer practically raced through the portal while Morty waited patiently at Rick's side until he went first, following diligently behind like a duckling.

They were accosted almost as soon as they stepped out of the portal.

"Hey! HEY!" said the shopkeeper. "No stray portals in the store! You're gonna cut someone!"

"Cut someone?" repeated Summer.

Rick pressed his fingers to his temples upon realizing that he would be forced to explain yet another basic scientific concept to his grandchildren. "Long story short, _regular_ portals essentially eliminate all distance between two points, meaning its width is zero. Since it doesn't have any width, the edges are infinitely sharp." He grabbed the edge of his own portal and pressed his palm against it. The portal's edge stretched like a rubber band, then snapped back into place, leaving his hand unharmed. "As you can see, that's only a problem if you're not a genius."

"Wow, Rick!" said Morty even though he probably didn't understand half of what Rick had just said. Rick smugly closed the portal behind him. "That-that sure is amazing!"

"Yeeeeeah…" said Summer, giving Morty a funny look before turning her attention to the rest of the shop. "Soooo, what's the exchange rate for Earth money here?"

"This shop won't take Earth money," said Rick, pulling out his wallet. "Seeing as I'm living there at the moment, I might be willing to give you the space money for what you want here and let you pay me back when we get home. You know, for-for a nominal transaction fee."

Summer's eyes narrowed. "Fuck that noise. I'll just browse."

"Suit-" began Rick, only to belch. "-yourself. Morty, go hang out with your sister. Grandpa's got some haggling to do. You can browse if you want, but no more sex robots!"

While Morty reluctantly wandered off to join his sister in looking through the shelves, Rick strolled on up to the counter, where the shopkeeper was still glaring at him, and set the jeweled spider down on the counter.

"What's that supposed to be?" demanded the shopkeeper.

Rick gestured to the man's water bottle behind the counter. "Unscrew the lid and dip it in."

The shopkeeper looked skeptical, but did as he asked. As the water rapidly began turning red and wine-scented, however, he took a sip and instantly changed his tune.

"Okay, I'm interested," said the shopkeeper. "Fifty fuzzledorps."

 _"Fifty?"_ said Rick, laughing humorlessly. "I think we both know that it's worth at _least_ seventy-eight."

"Not a chance," said the shopkeeper. "Fifty five, and I'm already going over my limit!"

"Seventy five!"

They were definitely going to be there a while.

* * *

 

It was difficult not to sulk as Rick ordered him to go off and hang out with Summer. He felt like a child being relegated to the toddler table at Thanksgiving. Had he done something wrong? He was pretty sure he'd done everything he'd been asked, but what if that wasn't the case? What if he'd _missed_ something?

"So," said Summer, idly browsing the shelves. "You and Rick seem to be getting along pretty well lately."

Morty beamed up at her. That was one of the best things she could have possibly told him. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I don't think I've seen you argue since that whole thing with the bully on the school bus," said Summer. Morty ducked his head, embarrassed. Not about ripping that guy's hair out, of course. No, his embarrassment stemmed from the fact that he'd once been foolish enough to argue with someone who was clearly superior to him in every way. "Did something happen between you two?"

"I don't think so," said Morty, poking through the shelves in search of something interesting. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you guys argue _all the time?"_ said Summer, looking him over like she was convinced he was some kind of imposter. "You can't tell me you just _stopped."_

"I-I-I don't know what to tell you, Summer," said Morty. He could never expect her to understand. Hell, it had taken _him_ forever to get it, and he was with Rick all the time! "I guess I just came to an epipen- epifarry- ephiphery?"

"You mean 'epiphany?' " said Summer flatly.

"Exactly!" said Morty, too excited to share the truth with her to feel insulted. "It's just, our lives are so short and insignificant, you know?"

"So, what, life's too short to spend arguing with Rick?"

"Well, yeah, that too," said Morty. "But more importantly, _our_ lives may be insignificant, but _Rick's_ life? It's the most valuable thing imaginable!"

Summer could only stare at him with bewilderment. "Wait, what?"

"The things he can do are beyond all mortal imagining, Summer! He's a human being with the power of a god!" said Morty excitedly. "Don't you get it? He's- Rick is more important than any of us! Rick is the end and the beginning! Nothing else in entire multiverse could possibly measure up!"

"Uh, this is sarcasm, right?" said Summer. "You're just trying to make a point about Rick's ego, or something. Right?"

"Well, of course he has an ego, Summer. He _should_ have one. How could someone _not_ be proud of being so perfect?" said Morty, pitying her ignorance. "The fact that he even associates with people like us is a miracle, and-and we should all show a little more gratitude that we even get to have him in our lives!"

For a long moment, things were silent between them.

"Oh my God," said Summer. Morty smiled. Did she finally get it? "You've lost your fucking mind!"

Morty sighed. What a shame. He'd really hoped that his sister, of all people, would understand, but apparently it wasn't to be.

"That's fine," said Morty, returning to his shelf-browsing. "You'll figure it out someday."

"Right…" said Summer, scooting on back to the front. "Listen, I'm gonna go talk to Rick, okay? You, uh, try not to break anything."

"Rick didn't want us there!" called Morty after her as she left, but she didn't listen. Ah, well. She was his sister, and therefore of Rick's blood, so he could afford to be a little more forgiving so long as she didn't take any direct action against him. After all, he'd been an obstinate fool for _ages,_ and Rick had still somehow found it in his heart to continue tolerating him even so. Rick had always placed marginally more value on he, Beth, and Summer than anyone else, and it was his responsibility as a devout Morty to respect that.

* * *

 

"Grandpa Rick!" said Summer, slamming her hand down on the table where Rick was currently in the middle of trying to squeeze one extra fuzzledorp out of the shopkeeper. "We need to talk!"

"Kinda busy, Summer," said Rick.

_"This is more important!"_

"I'm sensing you're in a bit of a rush," said the shopkeeper with a smirk. "How about I just give you sixty and call it a day?"

"We'll be in a rush when _I_ say we're in a rush!" said Rick. "Right now, I want my sixty-one fuzzledorps!"

"First of all, dumb currency name," said Summer. "Second, are you aware that Morty has gone _completely insane?"_

Rick's face paled, something that didn't go unnoticed by the stubborn shopkeeper behind the desk. Oh shit, what had he done this time?

"God damn it, _fine,_ I'll take the sixty!" said Rick, ripping the money from the smirking shopkeeper's hand and slamming the spider down on the table so he could deal with whatever Morty had done. This was what he got for trusting Summer to Morty-sit. "What is it, Summer? This had better be pretty fucking urgent!"

"My brother just got through giving me some delusional spiel about how amazing you are!" said Summer. Well, that didn't sound so bad. It wasn't even inaccurate. _"Hey!_ Wipe that grin off your face! I'm not talking about regular old compliments. He sounds like a God-damned cultist! What the hell happened?"

Uhg, now he had to come up with a story. Good thing he'd already prepared one in anticipation that Summer would figure out something was up. Jerry was too pathetic to bother with, and Beth wouldn't question him, but Summer? Summer was a headstrong teenager. She had zero issues questioning her elders. What a nuisance.

"Look, on one of our adventures, Morty might've inhaled a fungus that messes with your inhibitions," said Rick. He had very deliberately picked Morty's 'symptom' so as to be able to excuse any future oddities with 'This is just all the stuff Morty was repressing all this time.' The last thing he needed was for anyone to realize that he was the true culprit.

"Inhibitions?" said Summer, clearly not buying it. "Are you seriously going to try and convince me that Morty has _always_ felt this way about you, and he was just _hiding_ it the whole time?"

"I'm not going to try and convince you of anything," said Rick, heading down the aisle Summer had come from in the hopes of finding Morty before he did something stupid. "I'm just telling you the facts."

"The facts? The _facts?"_ said Summer, storming after him. "Okay, then, Mister _Fact-Man!_ How long is it gonna take before you get him back to normal?"

Rick shrugged.

"I want a _date!"_

"Don't we all?" mused Rick, much to Summer's frustration. "Look, Summer, I'm doing my best, but I don't know how long it'll take to get Morty back to normal." Well, normal with benefits. "Now listen, because this-this is important: Do NOT tell Morty about the fungus. He still doesn't know that he's been exposed, and telling him is just gonna fuck with his head and make it harder for me to evaluate the effects of treatment on his mental state."

Summer crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. But you'd better keep me updated."

"If it'll get you to shut up," conceded Rick. That put a tighter deadline on the whole 'get Morty to calm the fuck down' thing, but then, he supposed Morty himself was already a ticking time bomb. Had Rick not sent him away while he'd haggled, who knew what his grandson would have tried to do to the shopkeeper?

"Morty?" called Rick, spotting Morty down the aisle.

Morty's eyes locked on to him like a laser sight on a sentry turret, and he all but skipped back to his side. "What next?"

"Well, seeing as Jerry is still probably running around the house without pants, I was thinking we could go out and get some motherfucking _ice cream!"_ said Rick. "Who's with me?"

Morty's hand shot up into the air. Summer, after a moment of deep thought, nodded her head.

"Sure."

"Alright! Let's go get some of the second-best ice cream in the multiverse!"

* * *

 

Morty collapsed into his bed with a weary sigh. He couldn't believe how stupid he was! How could he have possibly allowed himself to so thoughtlessly squander Rick's generosity? He wasn't sure he could ever look Rick in the eyes again after this. It was heinous. It was _criminal!_ To think that he had actually _dropped the ice cream_ that Rick had so kindly purchased for him!

He was scum. No, worse than scum! He was that disgusting orange mold that grew in the shower if it wasn't cleaned regularly! Morty rolled over onto his side and groaned, unable to shake the guilt. How was he supposed to go on with his life knowing he'd screwed up so badly? He pressed his face against his pillow.

Even if he somehow atoned for the ice cream, there was no recovering from all the time he'd spent just generally being a terrible Morty, always bitching about adventures and experiments just because they could 'get him killed' or put him through 'unspeakable agony.'

Morty got to his feet. There was nothing else for it; he would just have to apologize for everything and pray for mercy.

Reluctantly, Morty made his way down to the garage, but it was empty. He wasn't in the living room, either; it was just Beth, Jerry, and Summer watching some interdimensional cable sitcom about a single anthropomorphic horse raising three human orphans.

Morty went back upstairs only to notice the sound of the shower running. If everyone else was downstairs, that must have been Rick. It would be rude to rush him out of the bathroom, so Morty instead decided to wait in his grandfather's bedroom.

For a split second, he almost made the mistake of sitting down on Rick's bed while he waited, but that would have been just plain disrespectful. He was there to beg for forgiveness; he wasn't about to just place his ass where Rick slept. Instead, he took a seat on the floor.

And that was when he saw _it._

The trash bin was entirely empty save for one thing sitting at the bottom. It was a treasure beyond his wildest imaginings, far more valuable than the bottles of wine and vodka he'd stowed away so he could lick the rims where Rick's saliva had been left behind. Morty's breath caught in his throat; there, in the _garbage,_ of all places, was an unrolled condom. Morty crawled over to get a closer look, his face a vibrant red. With trembling hands, he fished it out and held it up to the light.

There was fluid inside. It had been _used._

Morty just about creamed himself as he stood up and raced back to his room to stow it away somewhere. Where to put it, where to put it? He eventually settled for resting it gently atop his Rick-shrine in the closet. He was too busy right now, but he would be sure to find a nice, sterile jar for it later. In the meantime, he had to get back to Rick's room.

* * *

 

Rick stretched as he stepped out into the hallway in nothing but a bathrobe, his damp hair toweled back into its usual spiky shape. Even a genius like him stood to benefit from the mind-clearing power of a hot shower. That, and he'd just masturbated into a condom to thoughts of rawing Morty over a balcony in full view of the street, so he'd been in pretty dire need of a rinse.

Having fully expected his room to be empty, Rick very nearly ripped the bathrobe straight off of his otherwise naked body before he noticed Morty kneeling on the floor.

"The fuck are you doing in my room?" demanded Rick. "And why are you on the floor?"

He figured it would be something weird, but nothing could have prepared him for the answer:

"I-I'm really sorry about the ice cream, Rick!"

Rick pressed his palm to his forehead. This again? Admittedly, it had been a little funny back at the ice cream shop; Morty had very nearly cried upon dropping his cone to the ground, sputtering out such sincere apologies that he had probably convinced everyone in the vicinity that he was being brutally abused, Summer included. Rick had gotten him a replacement ice cream and told him to quit being such a pussy about it.

"Morty, it was four dollar ice cream cone. You need to calm the fuck down."

"But I made you pay _eight_ dollars!" said Morty, visibly distraught. He scooted forward to clutch Rick's robe, and Rick had to chomp down on his own tongue to keep himself from getting an erection at the sight of his grandson looking so desperate. "I'm really sorry, Rick! I-I-I've been a terrible Morty for you all this time. I'm always complaining, or-or asking you for stuff. I know better now, though, really! From now on, I'll do everything you say, and I won't whine about adventures or experiments! I'll be a new Morty; one who-who appreciates how lucky he is to belong to the smartest Rick in the multiverse!"

Okay, well, that would certainly explain what Summer had been talking about earlier. Damn if Rick wasn't currently rocking a half-chub behind the bathrobe, though. "Wait, 'belong to?' "

"Oh, you don't have to worry about using that kind of terminology anymore, Rick!" Morty assured him. "I know better now. You're the one in control, and I'm grateful to be your property."

If Morty's words were strictly bedroom talk, it would have been incredibly hot, but this was beginning to get _super_ weird, even for Rick. "Look, Morty, I need you to tone it down with this stuff. You-you-you really spooked Summer earlier, and now she won't stop harassing me about it."

"Oh geez, really?" said Morty. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to screw up again!"

"For the love of-" said Rick, exasperated. This was almost more aggravating than Morty's complaints! "Stop apologizing!"

"You're right," said Morty, eyes downcast. "You're always right! It-it-it's not gonna help to keep apologizing." Fucking finally. "I-I-I need to be punished."

Rick's throat went dry. "Wait, what?"

"Please, Rick!" said Morty desperately. "The guilt is killing me! I need you to teach me a lesson! Make me hurt for what I did!"

Nope. Nope, nope, NOPE. Tempting as it was, he was _definitely_ not going to encourage Morty by taking advantage of this. Rick shook his head and batted Morty's hands off of his bathrobe so he could walk past him and fiddle with the microscope he had sitting on a table against the wall. He didn't actually need to use it for anything, of course; he just needed to face a different direction to conceal the tent that was rapidly forming beneath his bathrobe. "Morty, I'm not going to punish you."

 _"Please!"_ said Morty again, even as Rick refused to turn his head to look at him. "I can take whatever you've gotta do to me!"

"I'm not doing anything," said Rick firmly. "Punish yourself."

There was a moment of silence as Rick realized what he'd just said. It had been almost reflexive, in the same way that, when Jerry asked if Rick could get a water for him while he was going to the kitchen, he would tell him to go get his own damned drink.

"If that's what you want," said Morty, and Rick could hear him standing up to leave.

For a moment, he considered stopping him, but then, he supposed this was probably for the best. Morty would probably snap a rubber band on his own wrist, or engage in some other equally inane means of self-harm.

It was fine, Rick decided as the door closed, leaving him alone to strip down and jack off for a second time. Fucked up in the head as he'd become, Morty was still Morty. He wasn't going to suddenly become capable of coming up with anything that the old Morty couldn't think of.

* * *

 

This was it. This was Morty's chance for redemption.

Of all the punishments he could have received, Morty never would have expected that he would have to punish _himself,_ but then, he was just a Morty. It really was the perfect solution; Rick was giving him the opportunity to show just how far he was willing to go to earn his forgiveness. Anyone could endure being bound and tortured, but only a few had the mental fortitude and dedication to hurt themselves.

Morty hurried back down to the garage for supplies. This would have to be brutal, but safe; tools weren't of any use to their owners broken, and he wouldn't be of any use to Rick dead. Perhaps that was just part of the test? Yes, that had to be it! He would bring himself to the edge of death! It would be the perfect show of atonement! Morty couldn't help but let out a giddy laugh. He wouldn't just show Rick that he was a good Morty, oh no. He would show Rick that he was the best, most loyal, most adoring Morty in all the multiverse!

But what to use? He browsed the shelves of Rick's garage with an appraising eye. Lasers would be a good candidate. Morty knew from experience how painful they were to be hit by, but the heat also meant that any wound would be cauterized and stop bleeding; Rick had told him as much during a drunken tangent about how Star Wars characters could survive having their limbs lopped off by lightsabers. Morty grabbed one of Rick's plasma knives.

Hmm, that was a good start, but it wasn't nearly enough. Plenty of people cut themselves. It was time to bring out the big guns. Where did Rick keep his interrogation gear, again? Right, behind the hidden wall panel above the washing machine, next to the bootleg arcade machine. Morty opened up the panel to find Troy still in the system. He shuffled some things around and began plucking things off the shelf. Many of the devices were designed with alien anatomy in mind, but there were plenty suited for humans.

"Automated denailer…" murmured Morty, grabbing the device with shaky hands. Yes, that would definitely be painful! "Liquid nitrogen…"

His hands were full, but he was pretty sure it would be sufficient. Now all that was left was something to keep himself quiet; his unenlightened family would never understand the importance of what he was doing, and he certainly wouldn't want to bother Rick with his repentant screams. Fortunately, Rick was the sort of man who'd created a solution for just about every problem. Morty rifled through the shelves in search of a device he'd seen his grandfather use on a few separate occasions to keep a hostage quiet. He grinned triumphantly as he pulled it out; it looked a little bit like a gas mask, but it only covered the mouth, and would completely silence any sound that left the wearer's mouth.

Morty strapped the gag to his face for a test run. Not because he doubted Rick's genius, or anything like that! He just needed to make sure there wasn't anything he needed to switch on first.

"Hello?" he said, but no sound was audible. Perfect.

Morty didn't bother taking it off his face, since he already had enough to carry. He picked up his chosen implements in his arms and opened the door with his foot. It was easy to stroll right on by his family, whose eyes were glued to the television.

"Do you guys ever wonder what happens to the child actors in these kinds of shows?" asked Jerry out of nowhere.

"Nope," said Beth, taking another sip from her glass of wine.

Upon reaching his room, Morty set his tools down on the bed and closed the door behind him. His family had come to understand that when his bedroom door was closed, it was a bad time to disturb him.

This was it. Morty swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked over his options, wondering where to start. The liquid nitrogen seemed as good a place as any. He picked up the small tube, which was already fairly cold. It was a chemical that could rapidly freeze living tissue, hence its popularity as a means of wart removal. Morty knew from experience that it was also an effective means of killing off several other wart-like ailments from across the multiverse, and that its usage could be quite painful. Since it would reach its boiling point as soon as it left its vacuum-sealed container and made contact with something warmer, it produced a lot of gas. One liter of liquid could create 700 liters of gas, and while it wasn't poisonous in and of itself, too much could still result in suffocation.

Morty cracked his window open. While he was pretty sure the small tube he'd taken with him didn't contain enough liquid nitrogen to cause that kind of a problem, he'd learned on many an adventure that he was better safe than sorry.

"Okay," he said, even though his voice didn't make a sound through the mask. "Here we go."

He stripped himself down to his underwear so as to keep his clothes from getting stained with blood and readied the vial. Since this particular container was intended for interrogation purposes, it had a built-in applicator. Morty flipped the switch to get it out of storage mode. A handle with a trigger protruded out of the side while a barrel sprung out of one end, with the result looking almost like a squirt gun. Morty twisted the dial to close-range and, after taking a seat on the floor, aimed it at his leg.

He squeezed the trigger.

The pain was not immediate. Rick called that the 'Leidenfrost effect.' Morty didn't understand the details too well, but he knew enough to set the gun down while he had the chance.

Shortly after, however, as the splattered liquid turned to gas, Morty cried out as his skin was frozen. The cold was so intense that it felt more like a burn. The scattered bits of flesh where the liquid nitrogen had contacted had become pink like a sunburn.

It was pathetic. Morty had received more intense ice burns on some of their Arctic adventures. He took a deep breath, retrieved the liquid nitrogen gun, and shot himself in the leg once more.

"HNN!"

That time, it had splattered against his other leg. Good. The bright pink skin had turned red. He fired again, and tears filled his eyes as blisters rapidly started to form.

Once the nitrogen gas cleared, Morty began taking shots at his other leg. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he repeated the process, freezing his own flesh until it blistered.

This wasn't enough. Not even close. Months upon months as a disappointment would not be corrected so easily. Morty crossed his legs and fired at the bottom of his foot.

By the time he was finished, his entire lower legs looked like they'd been covered in a layer of wax. Disappointingly, the pain had faded to numbness; it looked like frostbite had set in. Morty supposed there would be no point in cutting them up now that he could no longer feel them. He set the emptied container aside to instead go for the denailer.

This one required far less user interaction. The device itself looked a little like a solid metal glove, with a few major differences. The separated finger slots were all approximately the same length, and there was one angled slot on either side for the thumb so the device could be used on either hand. There was a screen with various settings on the top. Morty slid his hand into place.

He hit the 'Lock' button. Immediately, he could feel something inside suction itself to his fingernails. Morty bit his lip. This was going to suck.

"You can do this," he whispered to himself, even if it was impossible to hear. "You can do it for Rick!"

He had to force himself to keep his breath steady so as to keep himself from hyperventilating as he readied his finger over the 'Start' button. The fact that he couldn't actually see what was happening inside the machine only made it more frightening.

"For Rick," he said again. "For Rick!"

Morty hit the button. For a moment, there was a tugging sensation, then it stopped. Was it broken?

_Click!_

With a single, sharp _yank,_ all five nails of that hand were ripped clean out of his fingertips. Morty howled with agony as his denailed hand was released. Blood poured from the nailbeds, but it wasn't over. He had another hand to do.

Morty hastily inserted his other hand and locked it into place before his nerves failed him. Without giving himself time to think about it, he slammed his still-bleeding hand against the 'Start' button.

_Click!_

"AAGH!" cried Morty. He let loose a lengthy stream of silent curses as he set the device aside. Both of his hands were shaking far too badly to hold the plasma knife, let alone cut himself with it without slicing open something important. Was this it? Was this really the extent of what he was capable of?

Morty collapsed to his side, sobbing brokenly. It hurt so much. He didn't want to do this.

But he _had_ to.

"For Rick," he choked out again as he fumbled around for the plasma knife still sitting on top of his bed. "ForRickforRickforRick-"

He flipped the plasma blade on. It was like a little laser knife. The colors were actually kind of pretty, but Morty didn't have time to admire his grandpa's handiwork.

With another silent, determined scream, Morty swung the blade down through his left leg, above the knee so as to make sure he wasn't just cutting up the part numbed by frostbite. The plasma sliced through skin and bone alike like warm butter. The amount of force he'd used proved excessive, and the knife ended up slicing through the floor. Overwhelmed by the pain of cutting off his own leg, Morty struggled desperately to lift the knife and move on to the next one, but it slipped from his bloody grip and fell to the floor.

"For…" Morty began.

He collapsed onto his back, and everything went dark.

* * *

 

Rick sighed contentedly as he peeled off the second condom he'd masturbated into in the same day. It didn't feel quite as good as his bare hand, but it sure made clean-up easier, especially since he wasn't keen on showering a second time. As he went to toss it in the trash bin, however, he noticed something troubling.

…Where was the first one?

Rick dropped the latest used condom into the trash. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

_Morty._

For as kinky a fucker as Rick was, that was just a whole new level of disgusting. Stealing used condoms out of the trash? _Seriously?_ What the fuck? Damn it, he needed to extract those nanobots and run some proper diagnostics. There was no way that this was stuff his Morty could actually be pushed into doing just because he really liked a person, even if he _did_ worship the ground Rick walked on.

Rick reluctantly dressed himself to go knock on Morty's door.

"Morty!" he said sternly. "I need you in the garage, now!"

No response. Rick frowned.

"Damn it, Morty, quit jacking it and get out here, or I-I-I'll come in there and drag you out myself!"

Still nothing. Well, he'd given ample warning. Rick opened the door.

Oh.

Oh _shit._

Rick's body seemed to switch over to autopilot as he dropped to his knees to assess the unconscious Morty's condition. Still breathing. That was a good sign. His legs were completely frostbitten, and one had been cut off entirely, but the injury appeared to have been caused by a plasma blade and wasn't bleeding. His hands were covered in blood, and his fingernails were all missing, but the injuries appeared to have scabbed over. From what he could see, there wasn't enough spilled blood for that to be a factor in Morty being unconscious; Rick's best guess was neurogenic shock from excessive pain.

Okay. No need to panic. Everything here was perfectly fixable. He just had to get Morty to the lab. Rick hurried back to his room to retrieve his portal gun, then popped one on Morty's bedroom wall in order to get him there without alerting anyone else. He hoisted Morty's battered body through the portal and set him carefully down on the table, then went back for the severed leg, followed by the various tools he'd used to mutilate himself.

He flipped a switch on the wall, and an empty vat rose out of the floor. Rick opened it up, set Morty down inside, and pulled off the silencer over his mouth before closing him up inside. With a few more button presses, the vat began to fill with green liquid. Morty's body began floating upwards, and bubbles escaped his mouth as the fluid filled his lungs. It was perfectly breathable, of course, but it would also keep him in suspension for the next few hours while Rick regrew his leg and fixed the frostbite.

With Morty stabilized, Rick opened up the nanobot communication app on his computer.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in there?" he demanded.

 _"Chilling in brain juice, mostly,"_ responded the nanobot. _"Why? What's up?"_

"My grandson just _cut his own leg off,_ and-and you honestly expect me to believe that you're 'just chilling?' " growled Rick.

_"Uh, yes?"_

"No," said Rick scathingly. "No fucking way."

 _"Well, I'm sorry to be the one to have to bring this up, but, like, have you considered that maybe this was just something he was capable of from the beginning?"_ suggested the nanobot.

"For real? _Morty?"_ said Rick. Were he not currently staring down at his grandson's blistered and severed leg, he might have laughed. "Not a chance."

 _"Look, the thing is, I told the others about your concerns, and we spent a lot of time going through thoughts and memories,"_ said the nanobot. _"I don't think this is super surprising at all. None of the stuff that you say he's done really falls outside of the bounds of what he already seems capable of. Stuff like pushing lighthouse keepers down the stairs, attempted torture to protect that 'Jessica' person… He was already pretty 'fucked up' by human standards. The only difference now is who he loves and how intense the feelings are."_

Rick glared at the screen.

"Nanobots, eject yourselves out of Morty's body and cluster together for retrieval. I'm running diagnostics."

 _"Caaaaan do!"_ chirped the nanobot. _"Come on, guys! Time to go!"_

Rick shut down the program.

"Fuck," he breathed, making sure to lock the door leading to the rest of the house before someone like Summer burst in demanding to know what was up.

He couldn't believe the degree to which he'd underestimated Morty's madness. It was bad enough that he was capable of injuring himself far beyond Rick's wildest imaginings. It was _worse_ that he was downright _methodical_ about it. If he were just being _stupid_ crazy, he might have alerted someone with his screams or mad ravings, but instead, he'd planned ahead. He was out of his mind, yes, but he was still sane enough to recognize that other people (sans Rick, apparently) would find his actions disturbing and try to stop them. Rick had dealt with enough lunatics to know that the brand of madness Morty was exhibiting was by far the most dangerous. Regular raving lunatics were fairly predictable in their unpredictability, but with Morty, it was impossible to know the true extent of his crazy since he knew enough not to say anything about it.

Rick could no longer afford to sit back and see how everything shook out. He had to get a feel for Morty's new limits and reel him the fuck in. Until he understood exactly what made his grandson tick, he couldn't afford to leave him alone. It would be a pain in the ass, but Morty was going to need constant supervision. He didn't want to let this happen again.

Rick took another look at his grandson's severed leg.

He _couldn't_ let it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed part two of this painfully self-indulgent fanfic. Please feel free to leave your honest thoughts in the comments; I appreciate both positive feedback AND constructive criticism alike. Also, please keep in mind that the thoughts and descriptions of characters in the story do not reflect my own. When Rick refers to Morty's antics as insanity, it isn't intended to be a jab at the mentally ill so much as it is a means of getting across that Morty's behavior is abnormal. This story is a work of fiction, and Morty's obsessive tendencies are in no way reflective of real-life mental illness.


	3. Don't Push Your Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: Morty, feeling guilty about all that time spent not being a good Morty for his Rick, begged Rick for punishment only to be told to punish himself. Unfortunately, he might have gone a little overboard in severing his leg.

Morty awoke fully submerged.

His first instinct was to switch into survival mode. Which direction was up? He exhaled a puff of bubbles to check the direction. Morty began kicking his legs to propel himself straight upwards to the surface.

_Bonk!_

He grunted in pain as his head hit something. Ice? It wasn't cold enough for the surface to be frozen over. On further inspection, this wasn't a natural body of water at all. He was naked in a tube. Morty pressed his face to the glass in an effort to see the outside better.

The garage. He was in the garage, at home, and that meant the liquid he was in was probably breathable. Morty allowed himself to inhale. Even as his lungs accepted the oxygen from the fluid, it was still an uncomfortable sensation.

"Rick?" he tried to call, but his voice was muffled by fluid.

"It's about time you woke up."

Morty turned himself around. There was his Rick! He pressed his palms lovingly against the glass. Was this an experiment? He would gladly endure anything for his precious, perfect grandfather.

Rick flipped a switch, and the mechanism beneath Morty whirred to life. It sucked down the fluid in a vortex until Morty's head was exposed to the air, then stopped at his shoulders. Morty hacked up the liquid in his lungs.

"Rick!" he addressed.

"Morty," said Rick, looking very unimpressed. Morty frowned and dipped his head as much as he was able without placing his mouth back under the liquid. Had he done something wrong? He rubbed his eyes and took a closer look at what Rick was holding. Wait, was that a leg? "You want to explain to me what it is I'm holding here, Morty?"

The memories of what he'd been doing just before falling unconscious flooded his brain like a dam had broken.

"Oh geez!" said Morty, unable to believe just how badly he'd fucked up. He looked down at his legs, the missing one of which had been partially restored. "I'm sorry! I really meant to cut them both off, I swear!"

"Morty, why the _fuck_ would you _ever_ think I wanted you to do this to yourself?" snapped Rick, clearly pissed. Morty cowered as much as he was able, the shame of his failure too much to bear. "Do you know how long it takes to regrow a limb, Morty? It's at least an hour out of my day!"

Morty placed his hands over his mouth, horrified by his own lack of foresight. In all his planning, he'd never once considered that Rick would have to devote time to fixing the damage he'd caused!

"I'm sorry, I-I-I didn't-"

"I don't want to hear whatever shitty rationalizations you came up with in that pile of Play-Doh you call a brain, Morty!" interrupted Rick. Morty hugged himself and stared at the ground. Or, rather, he stared at the liquid in the tube he was in. "Now tell me, did you mean it when you said you were going to do whatever I tell you to do?"

Morty nodded vigorously. "Of course! I was born to obey my Rick!"

He absent-mindedly pressed his forehead to the glass, which rapidly fogged up as a result of his heavy, wanton breathing. Morty wiped the fog away with his hand, for every second he spent with his view of Rick obscured was a second spent unfulfilled. Oh, how he wished there were some way to communicate the magnitude of his devotion! No words could ever hope to properly express his _love,_ his _adoration,_ his _lust…_ If his Rick willed it, he would gladly slice open his own throat.

"Don't you ever try to punish yourself again," said Rick. "Understand?"

"Yes, sir." So much for that, then. He would just submit to Rick's punishments from then on. A shiver ran up his spine as he imagined all the terrible, agonizing ways in which he might be disciplined for future failures. Scary a prospect as it was, Morty found himself having to chomp down on his own tongue to keep himself from getting an erection; being naked in a vat, even flying at half-staff would be painfully obvious.

"And no more going on weird rants about how incredible I am to Summer or your parents, even if it's true."

"Yes, sir." That made sense. They were in frequent enough contact with Rick that they were expected to realize the truth on their own. Clearly, Rick wanted him to save his energy for those who weren't fortunate enough to live with him and witness his miracles on a daily basis.

"And for fuck's sake, Morty, stop calling me 'sir!' "

"Yes, s- Rick," corrected Morty hastily. Perhaps that sounded too silly? "Do you like 'master' better?"

For a long moment, Rick looked like he wasn't quite sure he'd heard that right. Perhaps Morty hadn't spoken loudly enough.

"Master, how's this?" asked Morty again, doing his best not to blush. He liked the way that word felt as it passed his lips. He imagined it would feel even more incredible if he were screaming it out in loving agony as he was held down and brutally fucked into a mattress.

Perhaps due to a strange trick of the light through the glass of the tube he was still trapped inside, Rick's face appeared to turn pink.

"When-when we're alone," stammered Rick, turning away to toss Morty's severed leg into an incinerator behind one of the seemingly infinite hidden panels on the garage walls. "In _small_ doses, and only if- when we aren't in danger."

"Yes, master," said Morty, nuzzling the glass delightedly. Wait a second… "So, uh, what's my punishment?"

Rick closed up the incinerator. "For what?"

Morty blushed. He'd done so many things wrong that even _Rick_ was having difficulty keeping track of all the things he had to be disciplined for! "For wasting your time, you know, fixing my leg."

Rick sighed. "You _really_ want to know?"

Morty swallowed. "I-I think knowing, uh, gives me time to reflect on what I did?"

"Fine," said Rick, gesturing to Morty's half-healed leg. "That's going to take another half an hour to heal. Unfortunately for you, it's getting late, and grandpa wants to go to bed. That means you'll just have to spend the night in there."

Morty deflated. Aww, man, he hated sleeping in vats. Trying to nod off while submerged was so hard when every last instinct in your body kept screaming at you that you would drown if you didn't get to the surface. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as what he could have gotten. Rick could have mutated him into a sludge monster (again), or hooked him up to some sort of device that would send pain signals to his brain from every nerve in his body.

"I understand. I'll-I'll try to do better next time."

With that, Rick flipped the switch back, and the green liquid began to rise once more. Morty instinctively held his breath for a moment or so after his face was submerged again, then reluctantly allowed the fluid into his lungs. _Eugh,_ he would never get used to that, but it served him right for being such a massive inconvenience. It hurt to know he was going to have to spend the night with Rick angry at him, but it would be well worth it if it meant having his forgiveness in the morning.

Rick turned off the lights and shut the door, leaving Morty alone in the dark.

* * *

 

The next morning, Rick took his sweet time getting back down to the garage. He wasn't going to have a lot of Morty-free moments for quite some time, so he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. Breakfast passed without much of a hitch, save for Summer's bitching:

"Where's Morty?" she demanded as Rick sat down with a plate of toast.

"In a vat," said Rick through a mouthful. Summer just glowered at him, not even flinching as the crumbs flew from his mouth and struck her in the face. "I'm working on it, Summer. Could I get at least a couple days before you start hounding me about it? I mean, Jesus."

She grabbed her schoolbag, still glaring at him, and got to her feet.

"Three days," she said. "You have _three days_ to give me some kind of an update.

"Look, I recognize that three days has been widely recognized as the perfect amount of time to fulfill a contract with a witch or a demon, but I feel compelled to remind you that we're a deconstruction of sci-fi tropes, not fantasy," said Rick as made her way to the door. Summer only glared at him in response. Oh well, worth a shot.

He washed down his toast with a swig of booze (it was never too early for a drink, and fuck anyone who said as much), then made his way to the garage to check up on Morty. It didn't seem possible for him to have gotten up to any trouble overnight, but Rick was becoming increasingly uncertain about what Morty could or couldn't do. At the very least, he hoped that his grandson had been wise enough not to spend the night beating off, unless he wanted to be swimming around in his own cum.

Rick flipped on the lights. He shook his head disdainfully at what he saw; Morty had somehow managed to flip himself over in the night, and was currently fast asleep upside-down. Rick hit the button for the drain, and the tube began emptying itself of liquid. Morty woke up as his head hit the bottom. Once he finished his obligatory 'my lungs are filled with water' panic and got his bearings, he awkwardly flipped himself upright again, lifted his head out of the liquid, and coughed up everything in his lungs.

"Rick!" he said joyously as the tube was finally drained.

The second Rick opened up the vat, Morty was already on top of him like a dog that had waited an entire day for its owner to get home from work. Rick made what he fully intended to be only a token effort to nudge Morty away, but unfortunately, his grandson was being a bit _too_ compliant today, breaking contact the second he felt the first push. Damn. He'd actually rather enjoyed that hug.

"No school today, Morty," said Rick. Morty didn't look too disappointed to hear that. His eyes lit up as Rick dropped the key for the ship into his hand. "We've got a world to save. I mean, not-not-not our world. See, there's this planet that produces one of the greatest television shows of all time, but now it turns out that they've got this big-ass volcano about to erupt. It'll end their whole world, Morty, and more importantly, it'll leave the show on an endless cliffhanger! No one can die until I get a resolution! Now come on, you're driving."

"Sure thing, Rick!" said Morty, already hurrying over to the ship.

"After you get dressed, moron!" scolded Rick.

"Oh," said Morty upon remembering that he was, in fact, butt-naked. "Right, just a second!"

"I have a change of clothes for you right-" began Rick, but Morty had already left the garage to streak up the stairs, heedless of the risk that Jerry (the only one still home aside from them) would see him. It was strangely comforting to see that, for as crazy as he'd become, Morty was still an idiot. "Dumbass."

He booted up his computer to check the diagnostics he'd been running overnight on the nanobots he'd retrieved from Morty's skull while he'd been unconscious.

_'All hardware tests passed. 92,918,423 unit tests passed. No memory leaks detected. No data corruption detected.'_

Ordinarily, those words were a good sign. In this case, however, it meant Rick had absolutely no way of knowing what went wrong. What had he not tested for? Which function had he overlooked?

Rick took a seat on the passenger side of the car and whipped out his phone. Much as he wanted to keep putting it off and convincing himself he could figure this out on his own, he was running short on time. Were it not for the cameras and supervisory drones he'd installed throughout the house and Morty's room overnight, he wouldn't have even been fully comfortable letting his grandson go get dressed alone.

With a frustrated sigh, Rick pulled up the website.

* * *

 

For as troublesome as Morty's new, far more flexible moral compass could be, Rick had to admit that it made for some far smoother adventures.

"Morty, they're gaining on us! You're gonna have to-" began Rick as they raced through the cornfield, helicopters overhead.

Ordinarily, this would be the point where Morty would raise some objection about how he didn't want to shoot innocent people chasing them down over a misunderstanding. (As it turned out, the volcano that had been about to erupt also housed a secret military research base that was none too happy to see them messing with magma. Rick's sticky fingers certainly hadn't helped when he decided to swipe a few guns and gadgets as 'payment' for 'services rendered.') Rick fully expected Morty to complain. To get angry. To tell him that everything was his fault in the first place, and if they'd just left earlier, they could be back home watching cartoons on Adult Swim right now.

But he didn't. Instead, Morty raised the rocket launcher that Rick had forced him to carry (his own arms were too full of all the other shit he'd swiped) and fired it off into the air.

_BOOM!_

Rick could feel the shockwaves as the closest helicopter exploded into a ball of flame and shrapnel. _BOOM!_ There went the next. _BOOM! BOOM!_ With just a few more shots, the skies had been cleared of enemies.

"Good job, Morty!" said Rick, not at all averse to showering his grandson with a little praise when he did as he was told. Morty beamed at him excitedly like a dog that had just been told it was a good boy. "Now come on, before they send out reinforcements!"

The two of them scurried to the ship, still hidden safely in the woods, and dumped their loot in the back. Morty hopped into the driver's seat, started the car, and pulled up into the air. Rick took a look around to make sure they weren't being followed before putting his feet up on the dashboard and leaning the seat back.

"Let's jump back to the Milky Way," said Rick, pulling out his flask for a celebratory swig of booze.

"You got it, master!" said Morty, inputting the coordinates of the jump point and readying the ship for warp.

Rick very nearly spat out the alcohol in his mouth. Shit, that was right, Morty had asked if he could call him that the other night. Why the fuck had he said okay, again?

"Hey, you-you gonna be okay, master?" asked Morty, looking concerned.

Oh, right. Because it was hot as fuck. Good thing Rick had thought to wear his boner-hiding underwear that morning.

As the ship readied itself for the jump, Morty reached over to place his palm on Rick's forehead.

"Oh, geez, you're burning up!" said Morty, visibly worried. "And your face is all red! What if you caught some kind of weird parasite?"

It was impossible for Rick to resist thinking up a million different ways he could take advantage of Morty's concern. 'Yeah,' he might say. 'It's a parasite that lives in dicks. You have to suck it out, Morty!' Or maybe, 'Yeah, it's a parasite that can only be cured through intimate human contact! You'll have to let me feel you up!'

The thought only made Rick's face grow warmer. Shit. He'd been hoping to wait until Morty was on the verge of breaking down with need, but at the rate things were going, Rick was going to be the one to crack. He was going to need to amp things up with something that would really put Morty's lust into overdrive.

Rick licked his lips, a wicked idea forming in his head.

"Yeah, Morty, I-I think you're right," said Rick, pushing Morty's hand away.

Morty gasped. "Oh no! What-what should I- I don't know what I should do! Rick, please, _tell me what to do!"_

"Relax, Morty, it's not dangerous," said Rick, reaching over to punch some coordinates into the universal positioning system. "We're just gonna have to make a pit-stop on the way back to Earth. Take us here."

Morty nodded and pushed the jump stick into warp.

* * *

 

Rick had been infected.

It was enough to make Morty want to vomit from sheer disgust with himself. How could he let this happen? He was Rick's shield! It was his job to keep him safe from harm! This was _his fault!_ He was a failure as a Morty! Were it not for the promise he'd made to Rick, he might have stabbed himself for such gross negligence! He deserved to suffer for this grievous crime, and the fact that Rick didn't eject him from the car to die in the vacuum of space was proof of his beloved grandfather's patience and mercy.

Morty pulled into the parking lot Rick directed him to and switched off the ship. The building before them didn't look anything like what he'd expected. Giant billboards of scantily-clad alien women covered the walls.

"Where is this?" asked Morty, following Rick out of the car.

"A brothel," answered Rick. "There are a lot of big, science-y words I could use to explain my current predicament, but in the interest of not having to waste time re-explaining it afterwards in a way your peanut brain can actually comprehend, I'll just cut right to the chase and tell you that the easiest way to cure the parasite I picked up is sex." Morty's cheeks flushed red. "You can wait in the car, if you want. I don't give a shit."

Sex? Rick was going to have to go have sex with somebody? Morty licked his lips, his heart aching with envy. It wasn't right for Rick to have to pay for the services of some random ungrateful prostitute who wouldn't appreciate the fact that the opportunity to have sex with Rick Sanchez should have been payment enough. Morty would have gladly parted his legs for free.

"Oh geez, Rick, are you sure, you know, you need to pay for that?" he asked, a foolish part of him hopeful that Rick would change his mind and realize that Morty was a multipurpose tool capable of serving as both a shield _and_ a sheathe. "I, uh, I mean, it seems like the sort of thing you could get for free."

"Well, you're not wrong," said Rick. "But, you know, people have lives outside of having sex with me, Morty. I'd have to call someone up, do all the obligatory 'Hey, how've you been?' shit, see if they're actually available, make plans, go visit, have dinner… This is just more convenient. In and out."

"Or, um, you know, maybe there's someone close by!" suggested Morty awkwardly. It was taking every ounce of willpower he had not to just bend over and beg to be skewered right there. His heart wouldn't stop pounding in his chest, pumping more and more blood to his groin.

The automated doors parted for them as they approached the front. The inside of the building was surprisingly clean. The floors were a sparkling white tile, and the walls were papered in a warm maroon. It felt a little like a hospital waiting room, but cozier. There were comfortable-looking sofas and beanbags throughout the room, in addition to a small library and a rack of pamphlets about safe sex.

Morty followed Rick up to the front desk.

"I need to make an appointment."

The lady behind the desk looked them over and passed Rick a form. "Name here." Morty took a peak at the paperwork. "Gender preference here." Rick checked the 'Any' box. "Flaccid size here." Morty already knew that one. Well, he hadn't taken a tape measure to it to get the exact size in inches, but he'd seen Rick naked enough times to have a rough idea. "Erect size here." Rick filled in the box, and Morty's cheeks went bright red. Holy shit. "Flaccid size of your partner here."

"He's not here to join in," said Rick, much to Morty's disappointment.

Reluctantly, Morty took a seat in one of the bean bag chairs, doing his best not to sulk as he pulled out his phone and connected to the brothel's WiFi.

It was no use. Rick would never see him as a sexual outlet. Never would he know the joy of being torn apart by his massive man-meat, nor would he experience the delicious fulfillment of being pumped full of his hot, sticky cum. It was enough to make him envious of his late grandmother; how often had she had the opportunity to endure that enormous girth? Had she appreciated it as much as Morty would have? And _oh,_ to think that she was the only one to date who had ever been granted the _ultimate_ honor of bearing Rick's seed to fruition… Morty supposed it was for the best that he'd been born male; he understood perfectly well that Rick's genes were too precious to propagate carelessly, but were he in possession of a womb, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to resist attempting to impregnate himself with the sperm he'd recovered from the used condom still sitting in his closet. Ah, well.

Morty focused intently on his phone screen as Rick strolled off, doing his best not to imagine the incredible time some _other_ person was about to have. It was enough to make his thumbs sore from gripping the phone too hard. Damn it, it wasn't fair! They would never appreciate Rick like he did. In fact, no one else would _ever_ love him enough to deserve his cock, so why were _they_ getting it, and not _Morty?_ It couldn't be because of his gender; Rick was very openly pansexual. Was it his age, then? Who the hell would ever think someone was old enough to take on life-threatening adventures, but not old enough to have sex with? Rick would never be so illogical. Was it because they were related? If anything, that should have improved his odds! That he bore even a fraction of Rick's genes in his blood should have made him at least marginally more worthy as a sexual conquest. Was it his stupidity? Everyone was stupid compared to Rick! Was he not attractive enough? Morty used his phone's camera as a mirror; nope, Rick had fucked worse.

For a long time, Morty simply stared at the black screen of his phone in silent contemplation. Why wasn't he good enough? What had he done wrong?

He frowned. Or perhaps…

Perhaps it wasn't _him_ that was the problem.

* * *

 

"So, uh, we gonna bang, or what?" said the blue, ten-legged alien, who looked a little like the lovechild of a giant millipede and a centaur.

Rick, who'd pulled out his phone and seated himself at the edge of the bed literally the second they got to their private room, shook his head.

"To be honest, I'm just here to make the person I came with jealous," said Rick.

The prostitute gave him a strange look. "You know you still need to pay even if we don't have sex, right?"

"Yep. Paid up-front. You're all set."

The prostitute shrugged. "Whatever. I'll be on my phone if you change your mind."

"Well, get comfy, 'cause I can't afford to get distracted," said Rick. He'd installed an artificial intelligence onto Morty's phone designed to knock him out with a powerful shock if he tried to do something stupid, but real life wasn't like the movies; people only stayed unconscious for a few minutes at most. If he got an alert that this feature had been activated, he needed to get back over there as soon as possible, before Morty woke back up. That was easier to do when he wasn't balls-deep in alien puss.

She took a seat on the opposite side of the bed, and Rick only grunted in acknowledgment of her presence. He had to check on the post he'd made earlier in the car.

The website was called RickOverflow. It was a forum-ish type of thing a little similar to its namesake, but its purview was far wider than just programming questions. It was a website for Ricks across the multiverse to post problems they were having with various projects and inventions in order to get advice and solutions from other Ricks. Most Ricks were too proud to use it, or at least too proud to _admit_ to using it, but a fraction of infinity was still a fuckton, so there were plenty of active users.

He himself was a first-timer, having just created an account the other day when they first set out. No dimension number was required to join, and all accounts were completely anonymous, so at least he could maintain plausible deniability if anyone ever asked if he was a user. However, with no dimension numbers, Ricks needed some other way of distinguishing themselves from one another, hence the need for a username.

His initial attempts at coming up with one hadn't gone so well, as it turned out that every conceivable variation of 'fuck_usernames_I_dont_have_time_for_this' had already been taken, as had just about every last one of his catch phrases. Originality was difficult among other variations himself, but pride had prevented him from just going with something that had been used already and adding a number to the end. Ultimately, he'd settled on the admittedly half-assed 'PortalPickle.' It wasn't like he planned to stick around any longer than he had to, so he didn't really give a shit what other Ricks thought.

Lawsuits weren't much of a concern across dimensions, hence the lack of a proper Terms of Service during sign-up, but he'd still been made to read and accept a short list of rules before joining:

_1._ **_Keep insults to a minimum._ ** _No, it doesn't matter if you think OP's question is stupid. The multiverse is a big fucking place, and some of us specialized in different areas. Literally every question on this website is going to be considered dumb by at least twenty different Ricks with different experiences, and for as witty as your zingers may be, all they accomplish is creating clutter and making it harder to find answers._

_2._ **_Keep your morals in your pants._ ** _We're all Ricks here. Sometimes things get sketchy, and we all have lines we won't cross. That's fine, but keep it to yourself. Different dimensions have different values. Some of you come from worlds where wearing the color orange is literally a cardinal fucking sin. If you don't want to help someone with something, don't click on the query._

_3._ **_Insert all the common sense rules here._ ** _Don't spam the place full of shit, don't post a chemistry question under Artificial Intelligence, don't try to hack the website, etc._

After successfully getting through registration, he'd posted his code and blueprints under the Robotics/Nanobots subforum, along with the following comments:

 **PortalPickle** says: _'It's impossible to overstate how little I want to be here right now, but thanks to good ol' Lady Circumstance, I don't really have much of a choice. Long story short, these nanobots are intended for brain modification. Remember Beth's whip that forces people to like you? It's on the same idea, but with more permanent results. All behavioral changes are performed through direct manipulation of neurons, either by cutting them away or building them up with synaptic putty…'_

His post went on for several more paragraphs about the composition of his synaptic putty, his specific programming methodologies, and his hardware choices, followed at the end by his actual problem:

_'Anyway, all my tests are passing, and it seemed to work fine on animals, but there have been some unexpected behavioral changes in humans resulting in violent tendencies. If I had a little more time, I could figure this out on my own, but my Summer won't stop bitching about it, and it's gonna cause me a lot of headaches if she tells Beth.'_

He'd been very careful to omit the specifics of who he'd actually been using this on and why. Though the rules of RickOverflow had very clearly stated that morals were to be kept to oneself, he didn't feel the need to advertise that he was trying to have sex with his Morty.

Rick checked the first few responses.

 **tittylicker69** says: _'Spot the Morty-fucker! :P This looks like a job for FriendFunction.'_

Okay. Maybe he hadn't been quite as sneaky as he first thought.

 **RibeyeRick** says: _'Here we go again. I ran some of my own tests on your code, Mortyphile; everything checks out. FriendFunction, you're up.'_

 **booooozzze** says: _'The Mortyphiles are multiplying! Someone get Rick Hansen!' **Note:** User received a warning for this post._

 **(MOD) SevenMonthsSober** says: _'Welcome to RickOverflow, PortalPickle. Just a heads-up, I'm moving your query to Biology/Neuroscience. You aren't receiving any penalties for this; I just think the Ricks there might be more equipped to help you. :) But yes, as has already been said, FriendFunction may be the best Rick for the job in your case. I'll message him for you.'_

So apparently, not only was it completely obvious what he was doing, but this 'FriendFunction' person seemed to have had a similar experience. Rick wasn't sure if that was comforting or concerning. Never once did he assume that he was the only Rick with a proclivity for his Morty – the multiverse was too big a place for that to be the case – but he hadn't really expected it to be common enough to be the first God-damned conclusion they drew.

There was a little exclamation point over the private message icon. Had someone sent him something? Rick opened up his inbox.

**Subject:** _'Your Post'_ **From:** _'FriendFunction'_

Well, that wasn't ominous at all. Rick opened up the message.

 **FriendFunction** says: _'Have you fucked your Morty yet?'_

What the fuck? He quickly tapped out a furious (and only moderately flustered) response.

 **PortalPickle** says: _'The hell? What kind of a question is that supposed to be?'_

The response was shockingly swift. Apparently the Rick on the other end didn't have much of a life.

 **FriendFunction** says: _'A relevant one.'_

 **PortalPickle** says: _'Quit the cryptic bullshit. You don't even know if I'm into that.'_

The next message took a minute or two to arrive.

 **FriendFunction** says: _'Oh, please. Much as I hate to stoke the ego of an alter-ego, all of your hardware is top-of-the-line, the code is thoroughly documented, and you've got proper handling for just about every exception that could conceivably occur. Ricks don't put that much effort into anything unless they're using it on themselves or their Mortys, and nobody mind-controls their own brain. If you don't want to fess up, that's fine, but I can't help someone who doesn't want to admit what the problem is.'_

God damn it.

 **PortalPickle** says: _'What difference does it make?'_

 **FriendFunction** says: _'It matters because, in all of your calculations, there's only one thing you got wrong. It's not your hardware, and it's not your software; it's your Morty. After everything you've seen him do, you assumed he was some sweet little angel incapable of hurting a fly. Well, I've got news for you, pal. That kid? He's your fucking grandchild. And sure, maybe his stupidity makes it easier to miss the red flags, but he's got your shitty genes coursing through his veins. He was a stick of dynamite from the start, and you just lit the fuse.'_

Rick took a moment to process his counterpart's words before typing out a response.

 **PortalPickle** says: _'Sounds like you're speaking from experience.'_

 **FriendFunction** says: _'No shit, Sherlock. Do you want a medal for spotting the obvious plot twist three acts before it gets revealed? Now, returning to my original question, have you fucked your Morty yet?'_

Well, there was no reason to lie at this point.

 **PortalPickle** says: _'No.'_

 **FriendFunction** says: _'How long has it been since you messed with his brain?'_

 **PortalPickle** says: _'About a week.'_

 **FriendFunction** says: _'Shit. Okay. Listen, buddy; drop everything you're doing right now and go fuck him. Don't take the time to get him warmed up. Don't try to be considerate or gentle. In fact, the more brutal you are, the better. Make him bleed.'_

What the fuck?

 **PortalPickle** says: _'Are you getting off on this right now?'_

 **FriendFunction** says: _'You wish. Look, buddy, I get it. You had this whole, elaborate fantasy built up in your head where he spends weeks pining for your cock before you finally give it to him. You like feeling like you're the one holding all the cards. It gets your dick nice and hard to feel like he needs you more than you need him. Been there, done that. It's not gonna work out the way you hoped. Mortys aren't logical when they want something. If you don't act according to his expectations, shit is gonna get nuts.'_

 **PortalPickle** says: _'Act according to his expectations? You're joking, right? I'm not going to start dancing to the beat of my own Morty's drum just because he went a little crazy, and I'm DEFINITELY not going to listen to some overly sadistic voyeur of a Rick I've never met before telling me to fuck my Morty hard enough to make him bleed.'_

 **FriendFunction** says: _'I'm telling you, that's the way he wants it. The longer you put off giving him what he wants, the more he's going to twist things in his head to justify shit you don't want him to do.'_

Rick checked the time. That conversation had taken up a good half an hour. He supposed it was about time he got back to Morty. He exited out of the interdimensional browser without bothering to respond to FriendFunction's private message and got to his feet. What a waste of time that had been. He should have known better than to think other Ricks would do anything but try to troll him and make the situation worse. 'Make him bleed?' Seriously?

"I'd say 'see you around,' but with any luck, I'm not gonna be coming back here," said Rick as he opened the door to get back to Morty.

"Yeah, you're not the first person to say that," said the prostitute, waving. "See you around, weirdo."

* * *

 

Morty flipped studiously through the magazine he'd taken off of the rack, still seated comfortably in the beanbag chair. He only understood bits and pieces of the language it was written in, but it was enough to piece together what the diagrams above were referring to. It wasn't particularly relevant to him, of course, seeing as none of the depicted body parts were shared with humans, but it wasn't like it could hurt, right?

A shadow fell over him, and Morty looked up to see a familiar white lab coat. He quickly flipped the magazine closed and slapped it back down on the rack, concerned that Rick might draw the conclusion that he was ogling the pictures.

"Oh, sorry, Morty, I didn't mean to interrupt your studies," said Rick. "Wouldn't want you to-to-to disappoint Jessica, right? I'm sure skimming Sticky Steve's Top Ten Titty Tickling Tips will get you up to speed in no time."

Morty was quick to fall in line behind him as he made his way back to the car.

"No way! Jessica- She doesn't mean anything to me anymore," Morty assured him. His grandfather was his first and only priority. Jessica wasn't even an afterthought. "All I want is to go on adventures with you, Rick!"

"Damn straight," said Rick, holding out his hand. Morty beamed. "Keys."

Morty handed him the car keys and took a seat on the passenger side of the vehicle. As usual, Rick didn't bother to buckle himself in before starting the car. It was somewhat concerning, but Morty wasn't about to question him. Rick knew best.

For the next several minutes as Rick pulled up out of the atmosphere and began driving home, they sat in silence. Morty kept hoping that his grandpa would say something, _anything_ to start up some kind of conversation, but alas, it seemed it would be up to him to get the ball rolling.

"So, uh, was it good?" asked Morty, staring intently at the dashboard.

"It was alright," said Rick, and that was the extent of his answer.

Morty clenched his fists, hardly able to contain his fury. That worthless piece of shit had clearly done a _terrible_ job! His Rick deserved nothing but the best, most mind-blowing sex in the universe. The very idea of his beloved grandpa receiving anything less than perfect service was enough to make him want to storm in there and _rip that fucking whore's throat out._

It wasn't fair. He wouldn't have stopped until his Rick was satisfied. No, _he_ would have done whatever it took to give Rick as much pleasure as he was capable of. Morty dug his nails into the seat. Why couldn't it be him? Why, why, _why?_

The ride home was fairly short, and it wasn't long until they pulled up into the driveway and stowed the car back away.

"Looks like nobody's home," mused Rick as they reentered the house. It was around dinnertime, but the kitchen was untouched.

"Maybe they went out to eat," said Morty. It wouldn't have been the first time the rest of the family had gone to a restaurant while the two of them were on an adventure.

"Sure seems like it," said Rick, wasting no time in plopping himself down on the sofa. "Aaaah…"

Morty gleefully took a seat on the floor at Rick's feet.

"Uh, Morty, what are you doing?" asked Rick.

"Huh?"

 _"On the floor,_ Morty. What are you doing _on the floor?"_ asked Rick.

Morty stared up at him, confused. "Sitting?"

Rick gestured to the sofa.

"Oh, no!" said Morty, blushing and vigorously shaking his head. "I-I-I could never sit on the same chair as _you,_ Rick. I know my place."

"Morty," sighed Rick. "Get on the fucking chair. You-you have my permission."

Morty trembled.

Him? Sitting on the same seat as _Rick?_ He squeezed his knees together as his cock strained against his jeans for what felt like the millionth time that week. Morty shakily lifted himself up to take a seat on the sofa, setting himself down on the cushion as slowly and carefully as he could so as not to disturb his grandfather with any furniture squeaking.

"Real talk, Morty," said Rick. "I need to you act more like you used to, at least when other people are around. Your sister needs to think things are back to normal, and your parents can't know that anything's changed. Got it?"

Morty's shoulders drooped. "But I was so awful to you."

"We can still hang out, and you can still be excited about adventures," said Rick. "Just cut the weird shit. No-no-no more weird rants, no sitting on the floor instead of the furniture, and no more beating the shit out of people without my say-so. You murder who I explicitly tell you to murder, and no one else. Well, I mean, except in self-defense, obviously," he added at the end. "You can hurt or murder someone who tries to hurt us first without waiting for my permission."

"I understand, Rick," said Morty, because he was a good Morty, and good Mortys did whatever their Ricks told them to do regardless of how much sense it made.

Or did they?

"Hey, Rick, is it okay if I ask you a question?" asked Morty.

Rick shrugged as he reached for the remote. "Shoot."

"So, like, obviously, as your Morty, I should do whatever you tell me to do, right?" said Morty. "But if-if you were being mind-controlled or corrupted or something, what then? Should I still listen to you?"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Morty, if I'm being mind-controlled, it's not _me_ issuing the orders, so whatever I tell you, you should just do whatever it takes to snap me out of it as soon as you can."

"Right," said Morty. "I-I-I guess that was kind of obvious. Sorry."

Morty gripped his knees so hard that his nails dug into his flesh through the fabric of his jeans.

'Whatever it takes,' he'd said. So Morty would do whatever it took.

His Rick would be plagued by the siren's song of stray whores no longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your readership. I apologize that this took so long; it went through a lot of scrapped scenes and rewrites. If you could leave a comment with your honest feelings on the chapter (positive OR negative!), I'd be incredibly grateful. <3


	4. That Chemical Reaction Called 'Love'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap: Rick took Morty to a brothel and pretended to go bang a prostitute in order to make Morty jealous, a ploy that might have worked a little too well. In actuality, however, he spent the entire time trying to get some advice about his current predicament on an interdimensional forum called RickOverflow, where he met a Rick who seems to have gone through a similar, if not identical situation.

The rest of the three days that Rick had been not-so-generously allotted by Summer passed without a hitch.

"See?" he said, grinning cockily and giving her a playful punch to the shoulder as she headed for the front door, the weight of her backpack supported by only a single shoulder. "What'd I tell you? Morty's fine."

Summer turned around, looked him straight in the eye, and smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, nor was it a satisfied smile. It was a tense, disbelieving kind of smile, like the kind the dentist gave him every single time Rick assured him that yes, he _had_ flossed. (Which actually wasn't a lie; it was the many years of drug-induced teeth-grinding that had stripped away the enamel, not poor dental hygiene.)

"Really?" she said, sounding about as convinced as an evangelical after a lecture on evolution. "So why won't you let him go to school?"

Rick scowled. Why didn't his grandkids ever have these flashes of intelligence at more opportune times, like when they were being chased by armies of angry sentient barnacles? Maybe it was just confirmation bias speaking, but sometimes it felt like the only time they decided to wise up and demonstrate a little savvy was when it served to inconvenience him.

"Because thanks to a certain _someone's_ impatience, the rest of my work is _way_ behind schedule, and I need Morty to help me get things back up to speed," said Rick.

"Behind _whose_ schedule, exactly?" asked Summer. "It's not like you have a job."

"Oh, burn!" said Jerry from behind them, only to shut his mouth as they both turned to shoot him irritated glares. "I mean, uh, umm, never mind."

He awkwardly sidled out of the room. Rick turned his attention back to Summer.

"Believe it or not, Summer, all that money for lab equipment doesn't just materialize out of nowhere," said Rick. "You think I have an endless supply of Erlenmeyer flasks for every time you and Morty decide to drop that shit and smash it all over the ground? Grandpa's got _clients,_ Sum-sum, and on the off-chance that Morty doesn't decide to mow them down with the ship, they like to get their drugs and guns on time!"

"If he's always smashing things and killing people, maybe he'd be better off going to school today," said Summer, crossing her arms over her chest.

Damn her smart mouth. Were it directed at anyone else, Rick might have been proud of his grandaughter's cool-headed wit, but this was getting _very_ old _very_ fast.

"Tomorrow," growled Rick. "He can go to school _tomorrow."_

"For the _whole_ day," said Summer. "Not for just five minutes before you pop in with a portal to whisk him away to another dimension."

"Fine, sure, the _whole_ day. Whatever," said Rick. Damn her. "But when some planet-sized eldritch abomination comes by to consume the Earth, and we all get eaten because I didn't have Morty here to pass me a screwdriver, that's on you."

"Whatever."

* * *

 

"Oh, _Rick!"_ gasped Morty as he stroked himself on his hands and knees. He pressed his face against the pillow, imagining that Rick had seized a fistful of his hair and was holding it down.

It was a little weird to be masturbating in the middle of a weekday when he was usually either on an adventure or, as was far less commonly the case, in class, but it was nice to be able to moan out his grandfather's name without fear of reprisal. Beth was at work, Summer was at school, Jerry was (supposedly) out at a job interview, and Rick was down in the garage. Initially, Morty had attempted to join him, but Rick had kicked him out despite telling him earlier that he couldn't go to school because he was needed in the lab that day. It didn't make much sense to him, but what did he know? He was just a Morty.

"Yes, yes, _yes,"_ he moaned, rolling his hips as he fucked himself with two Vaseline-coated fingers.

A part of him wanted to add more, but he was beginning to notice that the sheer regularity with which he was sticking things up there was making it far less painful. It was tempting to insert another, or even to find something more sizable, such as the handle of a hairbrush, but on the off-chance that Rick took an interest in him, he wanted to preserve his virginal tightness. That was how those sorts of things worked, right? His knowledge about anal had been derived almost entirely from porn and what he overheard from classmates, but it seemed to make sense that allowing himself to become loose would make things less pleasurable for his grandfather.

All that having been said, Morty still wanted to get off, something that was being made more difficult by the fact that it no longer hurt enough to imagine Rick's cock in place of his fingers. Maybe, he reasoned, it would help if he just thrust them faster. Morty pulled his fingers out just long enough to scoop another glob of lubricant from the unlidded container sitting on the bedside table beside him before stuffing them back inside. The excess petroleum jelly made it easy to piston them in and out, but it still wasn't doing anything for him except making his knuckles sore from the exertion.

"Grandpa Rick!" he whimpered, hoping the words would be enough to bring his wilting erection back to life. "Oh, please, grandpa Rick, _let me cum!"_

Morty frowned. This wasn't enough. Not even close. At first, the whole 'forbidden fruit' aspect of masturbating to thoughts of sex with his own grandpa had been more than enough to sate him. Lately, however, he was coming to find each orgasm more disappointing than the last. Much like a drug became less effective as the body grew resistant to its effects, the high of touching himself to thoughts of Rick was beginning to dwindle.

With a resigned sigh, Morty pulled out his fingers for a second time, then rolled off the bed and stood up to redress himself. He'd really hoped to rub one off before he headed out on his holy mission in order to ensure his mind would remain clear of dirty thoughts until he returned, but it looked like that just wasn't going to happen, and he didn't have time to waste continuing to try. After wiping off his hands, he opened the closet door so he could take a brief moment to kneel at his shrine before he left.

Morty traced his fingers across his framed picture of Rick's face and sighed wistfully.

"I love you," said Morty softly.

He reached for the small jar in the back where he'd stashed the used condom and unscrewed the lid just long enough to stick his nose in and take a long, blissful whiff. For the first few days, Rick's seed had smelled like a Callery pear tree. As time wore on, however, its aroma grew stronger. Morty closed the jar back up and put it away. He couldn't let himself enjoy it for too long; the temptation to pull it out and lick it clean would be too great. It was better to leave it and savor its fragrance for as long as it lasted, much like one might take the time to smell a batch of fresh-baked cookies before they were consumed.

"I love you so, _so_ much," he said again. "I-I would kill for you. I would _die_ for you. I _exist_ for you!"

Morty licked his lips.

"Did that whore swallow it?" he murmured. "I would've. You could fuck my throat until I choke, and I still wouldn't spill a drop, Rick."

He picked up a small lock of soft blue hair that he'd painstakingly bound together with a piece of string from what he'd picked off of Rick's pillow and laundry.

"But you didn't pick me," said Morty. "You were under a spell. I should have known, and I-I-I should have protected you, but I didn't. I _failed_ you. When you're better, you can punish me as much as you have to, but right now, I'm gonna fix this. I have to _free_ you."

He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, whereupon he crouched down to open up the cabinet under the sink. Morty pushed various boxes of drugs and toiletries out of the way until the faint green glow of Rick's portal gun in the back became visible. He pulled the device out with more care than a museum would show its most ancient and fragile artifacts, then planted a kiss atop the bulb.

"Sorry," he whispered to the portal gun. It deserved far better accommodations than to be stashed away underneath a bathroom sink, but he didn't dare hide it in his room. Morty wasn't particularly intelligent, but he knew Rick went through his belongings regularly. It was well within his rights as Morty's owner, of course, but it could be awfully inconvenient when he had to keep things on the down-low.

Ordinarily, stealing the portal gun would be among the highest of crimes a Morty could commit against his Rick, but this situation was anything but ordinary. His Rick wasn't in his right mind; he was being controlled by a vile, wicked creature who sought to use him for his perfect body. Getting the device into his possession had been no easy task, but Rick was shockingly careless when he drank too much, perhaps because he trusted Morty to fulfill his duty of protection.

A duty he had _failed._

"I'll make that whore pay for what they did," he said quietly.

Morty got to his feet and popped a portal on the wall.

* * *

 

Rick whistled idly as he typed some data into the keypad of his 3D printer and hit the 'enter' button. Behind the clear door of the oven-like device, several small mechanical arms rapidly began to put together a slender metal torso. Once that was complete, they wrapped it up in silicone skin, complete with a naval, though its groin was like that of a Ken doll in that it lacked anything even resembling genitalia.

He opened the printer door and pulled out the completed part, then closed it up to input the data for a head. What kind of hair was he looking to give it? Light blue would be too obvious. Maybe brown or black, then. Those were common colors. But what kind of facial structure did he want it to have? It was meant to blend into the background, so it couldn't be too handsome, nor could it be too ugly.

Just as he was about to start typing something in, he heard the distinct sound of a portal being formed behind him. Rick whipped around, hand at the inner pocket of his lab coat to draw his gun if need be.

A familiar figure stepped out of the portal. A tall, blue-haired figure donning a lab coat. Great. Just what he needed right now; another version of himself to make his life harder.

"Look, pal, I'm not gonna lie; this is _not_ a great time," said Rick. "I don't have the luxury of playing games with you right now. If you're trying to start shit, you _will_ die. Just figured it'd be fair to give you a heads-up."

"Thanks for the warning, but you can relax," said his alter ego. "I come in peace."

Rick's eyes narrowed. That wasn't his normal voice.

On closer inspection, this was no ordinary Rick. Their hair was thicker and heavier, enough so that the signature spikes appeared to droop slightly. They had softer facial features than he was used to seeing in the mirror, and their wiry body had far more noticeable hips than his own.

"Oh geez," he murmured, briefly co-opting his grandson's catchphrase. "You're an _Erica."_

"You catch on fast," said the Erica, closing the way behind her and stowing her portal gun in her lab coat. "What gave it away? Was it my pretty eyes? Oh, or-or-or maybe my miraculous elusion of male-pattern baldness."

Rick resisted the sudden urge to touch his fingers to his bald spot to check how bad it had gotten as of late. Well, it was good to know that he was just as insufferable with a pair of ovaries as he was with a pair of balls.

"It sure wasn't your tits," said Rick, eyeing her billboard-flat chest.

She flipped him off. "Nice try, but these babies are actually bigger than they look. I've got one portal in each bra cup. Keeps them from flopping around on adventures."

Rick raised his unibrow. "So, what, they're just flopping around in someone's living room?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to spend long nights wondering about."

Rick rolled his eyes.

"Mind telling me why you're in my garage?" he asked, only to smirk. "Did you get lost on the way to-"

Erica raised her hand. "So help me, if-if-if you say 'the kitchen dimension,' I will turn right the fuck around and leave you to deal with your little psycho grandson by yourself."

Much as Rick resented her insinuation that someone of his comedic caliber would even think about making such an old and overdone joke, that last bit had thrown him for a loop. All at once, everything clicked into place.

"FriendFunction," growled Rick. "How the hell did you find me?"

"RickOverflow may claim to be anonymous, but they can still store dimensional coordinates," said Erica. "As I'm sure you already know, websites made by other versions of us are a pain in the ass to hack, but I've been there long enough to be owed a few favors by the administrators."

"Figures," said Rick. He supposed he should have known better than to trust other Ricks with private information. "So now that we've established _how_ you found me, let's move on to the next question; _why_ did you find me?"

"You never messaged me back," said Erica.

Rick couldn't help himself from making a snarky comment. "Clingy much?"

"Don't push it," said Erica. "Seriously. If your Morty overhears you making those kinds of jokes, I'm gonna end up on his hit list."

Oh, was _that_ her concern? Rick shrugged his shoulders.

"Look, I don't know what _your_ Morty-"

"Morticia."

"-what _your_ Morticia was like, but _my_ Morty does exactly what I say," said Rick. "And I said not to kill anyone. Problem solved."

"Oh, you poor, naïve bastard," said Erica, shaking her head and snickering, her eyes locking on to the half-finished robot on the table behind him. "What'cha got there?"

Rick shuffled over to block off her view of it. "What's it to you?"

"You're making a robot student to spy on him when he goes to school tomorrow," said Erica matter-of-factly.

"I'm a Rick. I make robots. It doesn't mean anything," said Rick.

"And where's Morty now?"

"Obviously in another room."

"And completely unsupervised, too!" said Erica, stepping closer to peer at his computer monitor, which was displaying a live feed of every room in the house except the bathroom, which Morty had disappeared into some time ago after a lengthy and unsuccessful jack-off session. Not that Rick had been paying close attention, or anything. "You know, unless you count all the cameras. Yeah, you're _super_ confident in him, all right."

Rick scowled. "Fuck you."

"You can try, but I just came back from a real intimate encounter with a Juganormut, so it'd probably be like dropping a pencil down an elevator shaft," admitted Erica. "That, and, as we _just_ established, your Morty would stop at nothing to kill me, so there's that."

"I've got him under control," lied Rick, not about to let her think that he couldn't handle his own fucking Morty.

"Yeah, I guess, if you consider putting the house in lockdown to keep him from escaping being 'under control,' " teased Erica, gesturing to the lit-up 'Lockdown Mode' light on the ceiling. She pushed the button to open the garage door.

_"All doors unable to open in Lockdown Mode,"_ said a robotic voice. The garage door didn't budge.

"Better safe than sorry," said Rick.

"Excuse me for a moment while I check that one off of my 'Things I Never Thought I'd Hear Another Version of Myself Say' Bingo card," said Erica. "Come on, I'm-I'm-I'm extending a metaphorical olive branch here. I could give you some advice from my own experiences that'll save you _weeks_ of hassle and dozens of lives."

"And I'm telling you that I don't need any help," said Rick. "I have my Morty under control."

"By locking him up in the house?" said Erica, looking unimpressed. "It sure is a good thing that those doors are the only way out of this place. I mean, it's- it isn't like you have some kind of a gun that shoots portals sitting around here somewhere."

"Bitch, you see these wrinkles? I wasn't born yesterday," said Rick. "I've got it right here."

Rick retrieved his portal gun from one of the many inner pockets of his lab coat.

"Do you, though?" said Erica.

"What-what-what's that supposed to mean?" demanded Rick.

"Fire it," said Erica. "I dare you."

Rick rolled his eyes, aimed the portal gun directly below her, and pulled the trigger, fully intending to send her tumbling into the giant butt dimension.

_Click!_ Green goo spurted out of the device and splattered all over both Erica and the floor.

"The hell?" said Rick. This wasn't his portal gun; it was one of the handful of decoys he'd created in case some of the Federation's cronies ever decided to try and stealthily raid the garage while he and Morty were off adventuring. Had Morty seriously switched them out on him? He _had_ been a little buzzed the other night… "Shit!"

"Is this Wooble drool?" cried Erica, hastily attempting to wipe her face clean with the part of her sleeve that hadn't been coated in goo. It wasn't super effective. "You shithead! My skin's gonna be stained green for weeks! People are gonna think I'm an alien! Or worse, a _cosplayer!"_

Rick marched straight over to her and reached for her chest. She smacked his hand away.

"What the hell, man?"

"Give me your portal gun!" said Rick, grabbing at her labcoat and struggling to get to the hidden pockets he knew to be within.

"Fuck no!" said Erica, shoving him away. Her goo-stained palms left green handprints on Rick's shirt. "That's Dimension-Hopping 101! Never give another Erica your portal gun!"

"I'll give it back after I get _mine_ back!"

The distinct sound of another portal opening up rang out beside them, and they quickly broke apart to ready their weapons. With the portal gun no longer in his possession, it was impossible to predict who might step through. If Morty had gone and gotten himself captured, it was entirely possible that they were about to be swarmed by an army of Gromflomites.

Rick's shoulders relaxed as he saw Morty's familiar face pop out of the portal, only to immediately tense again upon noticing that his entire torso was covered with blood. Not his blood, though; he was completely unscathed.

No, Rick's best bet for the source of all that hemoglobin was the severed head Morty was carrying by the hair in his free hand. He grimaced as the portal closed and his grandson all but skipped up to him, proudly presenting his prize like a cat returning home with a decapitated squirrel in his jaws.

"I did it, Rick! I-" began Morty, only to step back and go on the defensive as spotted Erica off to the side. "Wait, uh, which one of you is mine?"

"The one without tits, obviously," said Erica.

"But-but-but neither of you have tits," said Morty, much to Erica's dismay and annoyance.

In any other situation, Rick might have snickered and applauded his grandson for that sick burn. For the moment, however, he had more pressing concerns.

"Morty, what the _fuck?"_ said Rick, snatching the portal gun from Morty's hands and stowing it away in his lab coat. He had half a mind to bend him over his knee and spank him for the theft, but he was pretty sure Morty would just enjoy it. "You took my portal gun?"

"I'm really sorry, Rick," said Morty, dipping his head to stare shamefully at the ground. "But I had to take it. She-she was using mind control on you!"

He held up the head as though it might serve as evidence of this claim. Rick's jaw dropped. On closer inspection, that was none other than the head of the prostitute he'd pretended to fuck at the brothel the other day. How had Morty even known which one she was?

"Mind control?" repeated Rick. "Morty, what-"

"-a good job you did!" Erica finished for him, reaching down with her cleanest hand to pet the top of Morty's hair as one might pet a dog. Morty blushed.

"What are you talking-" Rick began, only to be interrupted once more.

"Your Rick is _very_ proud of you," said Erica, shooting Rick a hard, 'just go along with it' stare. "Which is good, because if-if he _wasn't,_ it would just be proof that he's still being mind-controlled, right?"

"Right!" said Morty.

It was in this moment that Rick found himself thinking back to Erica's messages.

_'If you don't act according to his expectations, shit is gonna get nuts.'_

_'The longer you put off giving him what he wants, the more he's going to twist things in his head to justify shit you don't want him to do.'_

So this was what she'd meant. It didn't matter what he ordered Morty to do, because if he didn't justify his actions to Morty's twisted little worldview, his grandson would convince himself that it was the result of some outside influence.

"Rick?" said Morty, looking very much like a pathetic little duckling that had just been punted across the room by an angry football player. Rick continued to remain silent, still struggling to come to terms with his new reality. "Are you mad at me?"

"Oh, believe me, he's furious," Erica assured him. "That's why you- He's gotta punish you, Morty."

"Aww geez," said Morty without so much as questioning the reason behind it. "I should have protected you earlier, at the brothel, before she touched you." Erica shot Rick a disbelieving look. "I'm sorry, Rick."

"Right…" said Rick, unaccustomed to being at such a complete and utter loss for words. One thing was certain, though; he had questions for Erica. "Wait, uh, wait in your room. I'll be right up."

"Yes, master!" said Morty. Again, Erica fired off a judgmental stare in Rick's direction. "Where, uh, where do you want me to put this?"

Morty lifted up the head. Rick flipped a switch to open up the incinerator, plucked it from his grandson's bloody hands, and tossed it into the flames.

"Now go," said Rick, only to change his mind when he took another look at Morty's blood-soaked attire. "Wait, on second thought, shower first."

"Right away, Rick!" said Morty, leaving a trail of dripping blood behind him as he hustled on out.

"Wow," said Erica, bemused. "You knew he was unstable, and you went to a _brothel?"_

"Oh, yeah, right, because I was supposed to just-just-just _know_ he would ignore the order I gave him not to kill anyone," said Rick defensively.

"Well," said Erica, staring into the fiery incinerator with a wicked grin. "I bet she gave good head."

"Jesus fuck, _puns?_ Really?" said Rick, groaning. "You know, I've met a lot of shitty Ricks over the years who've tried to screw me over or even _kill_ me, and you know what? You're somehow the worst one yet. Congrats."

"I'm taking that as a compliment," said Erica. "But anyway, since you clearly don't want my advice, I guess I'll just be on my way!"

She made a big show of slowly, _slowly_ reaching for her portal gun with a shit-eating grin spread across her face. Rick was disinclined to grant her the satisfaction of retracting his earlier insistence that he didn't need help, but the alternative was putting up with a mountain of corpses until he figured out what made Morty tick. If she had the answers he needed (and wasn't just trying to troll him with bullshit), he would be doing himself a disservice by ignoring her.

"Wait," he said with a defeated sigh. "What can you tell me about dealing with Morty?"

"Thought you'd never ask," said Erica. "I fucked up my Morti's brain almost- I think it's been a year now? Anyway, I've got lots of experience with my granddaughter at her worst that I'd be happy to share. You know, for-for a nominal fee."

"Wait, are you serious?" said Rick.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"Yes," said Rick.

"Yeeeeeah, I realized that right after I said it," said Erica. "That's what I get for using stock lines. But seriously, advice doesn't come free."

"Really? Because I get free advice all the time," said Rick. "Most-mostly from anti-vaxxers and people who think herbal remedies can cure cancer, yeah, but at least they don't charge me."

"I want your coupon for a free replacement Morty."

Rick's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. I saw the results of your trial in the citadel news way back, and I can tell from how much you care about him that this Morty is your original. That means you must still have it," said Erica.

"I thought Ericas had their own citadel."

"Yeah, well, I don't live in England, but I'd still hear about a terrorist attack there," said Erica, holding out her hand expectantly. "Coupon. Now."

"Wait, did your Morticia die, or something?" said Rick.

"Oh, she's still alive," said Erica. "I just like to be prepared, that's all."

Rick sighed and began fishing through his wallet. He'd almost forgotten about that coupon. After all, it wasn't like he could actually make use of it without actually going back to the Citadel of Ricks, something he certainly didn't plan on doing if he could help it.

He pulled the coupon from his wallet and held it out for Erica. As she went to grab it, he pulled it back out of her reach.

"Advice first," said Rick. "And I want your interdimensional phone number, in case I have more questions. The _real_ one, not-not-not some fake number that just calls some kind of phone sex hotline or whatever."

"Uhg, fine."

* * *

 

Killing her had felt so good.

Morty pumped a glob of shampoo into his hand to better scrub her sticky red blood out of his hair. He could still remember the satisfying _squelch_ as the kitchen knife he'd brought along with him had pierced her chest. His ears were still ringing from her horrified shrieks, but in a good way, like being pleasantly sore after a hard workout. (Not that Morty really worked out all that much, of course; he already got all of the exercise he needed to maintain his slender figure from adventures.)

He couldn't help but lick his lips as he thought back to how pathetically she'd pleaded for her life, continuously claiming that they hadn't even actually had sex, and that Rick had simply hung out on his phone the entire time as part of a ploy to make him jealous. Just how gullible did she think he was? Rick would know better than to think he had to do anything like that for Morty's attention; all he had to do was ask, and Morty would gladly spend the rest of the day sitting quietly and listening to him talk.

As he finished up his shower and toweled himself dry, Morty wondered what kind of punishment he would receive for failing to protect his Rick from harm. Come to think of it, he'd also tracked blood all over the garage floor and throughout the house like some kind of a muddy dog. How despicable. He hoped whatever Rick did to him was sufficiently painful to right his wrongs.

Morty returned to his bedroom in nothing but a towel, eager to be absolved of his crimes. Would Rick break his bones? Maybe he would burn insults into his flesh with lasers, or pump his body full of sharp-toothed alien parasites. What if he went with something simple, like crushing Morty's balls with a hammer? Morty smiled and reflexively clutched his groin. How perfectly awful that would be.

He sat himself down on his bed as he waited. Several long minutes passed before he heard the familiar sound of footsteps going up the stairs.

The door swung open.

"Okay, Morty, I- You didn't get dressed?" said Rick as he entered the room.

"Oh, I didn't want any more of my clothes getting all stained with blood," explained Morty. "But I can get dressed, if you want."

"Why the hell would you think- Uhg," said Rick. "Look, Morty-"

"I have the Wikipedia page for methods of torture open on my laptop!" said Morty, sliding off of the bed only so he could drop down and kneel before his owner. "You know, in-in case you wanted some ideas!"

"Again with the knees," sighed Rick. He sounded annoyed.

"Sorry," said Morty. Clearly, Rick was aggravated that he wasn't going far enough in his demonstration of loyalty and devotion. Morty bent his head down to press a kiss to the top of Rick's black loafers. "What position do you want me in, Rick? On my stomach? Or-or my back?" He looked up. "Rick? Are you okay? Your face is all red!"

Rick cleared his throat. "Morty, stand up and bend over the bed."

"You mean-"

_"Now!"_

The sound of Rick raising his voice drained the blood from Morty's face and redirected it straight to his groin. He scrambled to his feet and bent over the foot of the bed, terrified of the idea that he had angered Rick while simultaneously feeling intensely excited. He gasped as Rick grabbed his towel from behind and ripped it from his body, completely exposing his round bottom. Morty kept his legs squeezed together to better hide his raging boner.

"Legs apart," ordered Rick.

Morty blushed, but he dared not defy his Rick. He parted his legs, doing his best to regulate his breathing as he did so.

"Now, I'm not usually the kind of guy who likes to look at the past with a nostalgia filter," said Rick. If he noticed the erection hanging down through Morty's spread legs, he didn't comment on it. "I may be old, but I'm not stupid, Morty. Overall, things are objectively better now than they were then." He pushed Morty's head down so his cheek was pressed against the bed. "But you know what I _do_ miss?"

"No."

"This," said Rick.

Morty's heart skipped a beat as he heard Rick unbuckle his belt and slide it free of the loops of his pants. Wait, he was bent over, and Rick was taking off his belt… Was he going to-

_WHAP!_

Morty cried out in both pain and surprise as the belt struck him across the ass.

"Yeah, it-it-it just isn't- It's not socially acceptable to belt your kids anymore," said Rick. Morty lifted his head to look back at him only for Rick to reach out and shove it back down. "Oh, no. You stay in the position I told you to, got it?"

"Got it," said Morty, taking a deep breath to brace himself for the next blow.

He howled out in pain as the belt hit him again, stinging his backside with the intensity of a bee. As expected, Rick had selected the perfect punishment; it would be plenty painful, but with none of the mess or repair work to do afterwards. And to think that Morty had expected something that would draw blood! This was why Rick was in charge, and Morty was just an undisciplined tool.

_WHAP!_ Morty bit back a scream. Rick was _not_ holding back; the pain was sharp enough that it felt like he was being bitten.

"Thank you," said Morty.

"For what, beating your ass?"

"Yeah," said Morty, involuntary tears beginning to make their way from his eyes. "Thanks for-for being patient enough to deal with me. HGH!"

Each successive strike hurt more than the last. He couldn't see the damage being done, but Morty would have been surprised if his entire ass wasn't already a vibrant red, and Rick was showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. The stiff leather of the belt continued chomping down on his flesh like an angry dog. Occasionally, Rick would pause between blows to adjust his grip on the belt, and Morty would take a few moments to gasp for breath and wipe the snot from his crying face. Even when it wasn't under fire, his burning ass felt like it was still vibrating from the earlier hits.

"Well, that should be enough of that for now," said Rick. Morty made to stand up, only to be forced back down for a third time. "Did I tell you that you could get up? Because _that_ was just for getting blood all over my shit, Morty. Now it's time for lesson number two; _never_ steal grandpa's portal gun."

Morty shuddered. Oh, _shit._

"Wh-what are you gonna do to me?"

"Scoot further up onto the bed and roll over onto your back, legs spread."

Morty swallowed. Rick wasn't putting his belt back on, and from that position, it would be easy for him to- But no, that wasn't a punishment, that was a _reward!_ It had to be something else. Morty meekly acceded to Rick's command and rolled over onto his back to expose his throbbing sex, dripping with precum. He winced and bit his lip to keep himself from crying out as the pressure this position created against his freshly-beaten behind set his ass on fire.

He swallowed the saliva that threatened to leave him a drooling mess at the sight of Rick hovering over him, staring down at his demure form with cold indifference. Morty blushed furiously. There was no hiding how hard he was now.

"S-sorry," he said quietly.

"What, for this?" said Rick, staring down at Morty's cock appraisingly. "Oh, don't apologize to _me._ After all, that's only gonna make this worse for _you._ Keep your legs spread, and remember, if you close them, you'll get an extra strike."

"An extra- O-oh," squeaked Morty as Rick lined up the belt with his cock. His throat, which had previously been producing saliva in excess, went completely dry. "Oh shit, oh Hell, oh _fuck…"_

He reached down to hold his knees apart with his hands as best as he was able, because he wasn't confident in his ability to keep them spread through force of will alone.

Morty took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

_WHAP!_

A bestial scream tore its way from his throat as the belt struck his hard, sensitive cock. Morty had taken blows to the dick before, but never anything quite so focused and deliberate. The pain was nigh-indescribable, continuing to radiate throughout his entire groin for almost a solid minute afterward like some kind of gong.

Rick set the belt aside, and Morty was left to sob and sniffle pathetically.

"Thank you," he choked out, because he wanted Rick to know that he understood that this had been well deserved.

"We're not done here," said Rick, and Morty's tear-filled eyes went wide with complete and utter terror. Was he going to have to take another belting across his cock? He wasn't sure he could hold his legs open for a second time. "Huh. I thought it'd be harder to get you back up and running after that, but it looks like you're still ready to go."

"Ready to-" Morty began to ask, only for Rick to wrap his hand around his sore, yet only partially-wilted erection.

Rick's hand was on his cock. Rick's hand was on his _cock!_ Rick's hand was _on. His. Cock._

Morty threw his head back and _moaned._

"Jesus, I haven't even done anything yet," snickered Rick. "Whatever. I like my Mortys how I like my eggs; over easy."

His hand squeezed Morty's sex a little more forcefully. Morty cried out and thrust his hips upward. This was certainly not how he'd expected things to go. It was how he'd _hoped_ and _dreamed_ it would go, yes, but for it to actually be happening? Well, far be it from him to question Rick. "O-oh, _Rick!"_

"Is this what you wanted?" asked Rick, slowly, _slowly_ sliding his hand up and down Morty's needy cock.

"Yes! _Yes!"_ said Morty, all but melting in Rick's hand. His grandfather had barely begun, and he was already on the verge of coming undone. He bucked up wildly in a frantic attempt to increase the pace. "Fuck, Rick, _please!"_

"What the fuck did we just go over, Morty?" said Rick, taking his free hand and pressing it against Morty's stomach to hold him down. "You move when I tell you to move!"

"Sorry!" panted Morty, doing all he could to simply relax and keep still as his Rick commanded. "Mm, ah, nnh…"

"Getting close, Morty?" asked Rick, and Morty nodded vigorously. "You wanna cum?"

Again, Morty nodded. The combination of pain and pleasure as Rick pumped his battered cock was too much to bear. His grandfather grinned down at him like a cat toying with its prey before the kill.

"Yeah, I bet you do," said Rick. His hand stopped, and Morty could have cried. "But I think we both know you haven't earned it."

Morty whined. "Please, Rick! I-I'll do anything!"

"Pretty vague, Morty," said Rick, peeling off his lab coat. Morty's eyes practically bugged out of his skull. Was he…?" When people beg me for things, I like it to be a little more specific. Any idiot can promise 'anything.' I want you to give me _something."_

"I can't," said Morty. Rick's frowned. Oh, shit, that had come out wrong! "I mean, I belong to you, Rick. There-there isn't anything I can give you that isn't already yours!"

"Oh, really, now?" said Rick, appearing unconvinced. He pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants. "I can do _anything_ I want to you, huh?"

Morty nodded.

"So I can hit you?" said Rick. He brushed his fingers against Morty's throat. "Choke you?" He pushed Morty's wrists down to either side of his head. "Paralyze you? Cut off your limbs?"

"Yeah," said Morty, blushing deeply. "I'm yours, Rick, and-and you can pull me apart and put me back together however you want."

"Yeah, pretty sure there's a word for that," said Rick sarcastically. "It's on the tip of my tongue. What was it, again? Oh, right! It's called 'slavery,' which, in case you missed the memo, is _generally_ frowned upon."

"Who cares?"

"Literally everyone who isn't white, for one."

"Well, I don't," said Morty. "As-as far as I'm concerned, this whole universe belongs to you, Rick."

"A lot of people would disagree," mused Rick.

"Fuck those people. I'll kill them," said Morty, wanting nothing more than to reach up and touch his hand to Rick's cheek. But alas, he could not move until he was permitted.

"Morty, you-you-you- You know what? We'll talk about this afterwards," said Rick. He pulled Morty down so his ass was at the very edge of the bed, allowing him to access it from a standing position. "C'mere, baby. Grandpa's gotta lube you up."

"You don't have to!" said Morty, not wanting Rick to go out of his way for his comfort. "You can take me dry, if you want!"

"Morty, if I take you dry, not only is it not gonna feel as good for either of us, but your virgin ass is gonna rip open like a wet tissue," said Rick, reaching into his pocket and pulling out both a bottle of lube and a device that looked a little like a tampon applicator crossed with a syringe.

"What-" began Morty.

"Watch," said Rick. He opened up the bottle of lube and stuck the tampon applicator-like device inside, loading it up like a doctor would load a syringe, then placed it at Morty's virgin asshole and gently nudged it inside. Morty shivered. The device was fairly thin and slippery, so it went in easily, but it was a strange sensation to have something so stiff and cold pushed into his ass. Still, there was something about it that was just so _exciting._

Morty took a deep, shaky breath as Rick essentially injected the lube into his body, then retracted the device and set it down by his belt.

"I thought people just, you know, used spit, or something," said Morty.

"Spit is for cave people, Morty," said Rick, looking borderline offended that Morty would even suggest such a thing. "Do I look like a cave person to you?"

Morty vigorously shook his head. "No, of-of course not! I-I-I didn't mean- Sorry."

Rick pulled down the front of his underwear, and Morty held his breath as, at long last, the object of his fantasies was unleashed to the world. It was a magnificent sight to behold. Morty had already seen how huge Rick was while it was still soft, and had assumed that he was more of a shower than a grower, but this? This was beyond his wildest expectations.

"Holy fuck," was all he could think to say. Lube or no lube, that thing was going to crack his pelvis open like an egg. Morty did his best to control his breathing. This was fine. More than fine, in fact. Even if it killed him, he would be proud to die for Rick's pleasure.

Okay, well, perhaps that was being just a touch too dramatic.

"You like what you see?" said Rick cockily.

Rick spread more lubricant over his impressive girth while Morty did his best to mentally prepare himself without hyperventilating from over-excitement.

"So we've got two options," said Rick as he lined himself up. Morty's face went bright red in response to the sensation of the head of Rick's metaphorical battering ram against his castle doors. "We can take this nice and slow, or-"

"Please," breathed Morty, clutching the blankets beneath him. "Fuck me however you want, Rick. If-if I can make you feel good, that's all that matters."

"Morty, you don't have to-"

_"I want to,"_ said Morty, wrapping his legs around Rick's waist and giving him a gentle squeeze to urge him inwards. "Please, Rick! I want it so, _so_ much, more than anything else in the world! Use me hard and rough! Show me that I'm yours!"

"Well, aren't you just a budding little masochist?" said Rick, rolling his eyes. He cracked his knuckles and gripped Morty's hips tightly enough that he could feel the pinch of Rick's nails digging into his flesh. "Look, if we get into it and you still want it rough, I'm totally game, but you might wanna wait until my dick is actually in your ass before you make that decision. More importantly, Morty…" He looked Morty straight in the eyes. "If you want me to stop or slow down, all you've gotta do is ask. I may be a thief and murderer responsible for the deaths of countless innocent people throughout the multiverse, but I'm no rapist. It-it-it's terrible for ratings, Morty. People are cool with wanton destruction, child endangerment, and even implied genocide, but there isn't- there's no coming back from a rape. Got it?"

There was no way Morty could possibly ask Rick to stop at any point. He was, after all, Rick's property. His consent (or lack thereof) was irrelevant. Nonetheless, Morty nodded.

"Alright, then. Don't forget to breathe, Morty."

Just as Morty inhaled, Rick skewered him in a single hard _thrust._

_"Fuck!"_ cried Morty. His ass felt like a rubber band that had been stretched beyond its limit and was on the verge of breaking apart. Every muscle fiber had been pulled completely taut to make way for Rick's cock, which felt even bigger than it looked. Morty let loose a string of pained curses. But _oh,_ to think that Rick was actually _inside_ him! He smiled through the discomfort, moved to happy tears by the honor of being wrapped around Rick's enormous shaft. Or, well, he supposed the tears could also be due to the fact that it felt like someone had doused his ass in kerosene and set it alight.

Looking up at Rick only further reassured him that this was well worth it. His grandfather's face had gone red, and he was breathing almost as heavily as Morty was.

_"Jesus,_ Morty," said Rick. He peered downwards. "Well, it doesn't _look_ like anything tore. Must be all that contraband I've made you smuggle in there."

"Am I too loose?" asked Morty, suddenly panicked.

"What? No," said Rick. "Look, just relax and let me do my thing. Grandpa's gonna make you feel incredible."

"It doesn't matter what I feel, it-"

"It only matters how I feel, right? Yeah, sure, whatever," said Rick. "Nobody likes a sexual martyr, Morty. From now until we're done, if you aren't either asking me to stop or begging me for more, I don't want to hear it."

Morty bit his lip. Did Rick not think he could handle this? "Okay."

"Good," said Rick, smirking. "Now get ready, baby, 'cause your prostate is getting fucking _destroyed."_

"Prostate?" wheezed Morty. He could have sworn he'd heard the word before in passing, but he wasn't super familiar with its actual meaning.

Rick's face fell, and Morty worried that perhaps he'd done something wrong. Was he clamping down too hard? It was just so hard to relax.

"You've- You're kidding me, right? All the porn you've watched, and not _once_ did that come up? Sheesh. Didn't you have to do that whole sex education thing in school?" said Rick.

"You, uh, you pulled me out that day," said Morty. "Not-not that I'm upset, or anything! Helping you with adventures is way more important!"

Rick rolled his eyes. "You know what? I could _tell_ you, but I think I'm just gonna _show_ you, instead."

Rick pulled his hips back, and Morty gasped like a fish out of water. He could feel it sliding out of his body millimeter by millimeter. For a brief moment, there was relief. As Rick pushed back in, however, Morty's sore sphincter protested the intrusion with wave after wave of fiery spasms.

Suddenly, however, there was a very different sensation. Morty gripped the sheets tightly as Rick's girth struck something inside of him that had him moaning out with pleasure. It was a uniquely incredible feeling, like getting jerked off from the inside.

"How's that?" asked Rick.

"Amazing," gasped Morty.

"Hell yeah, first try!" said Rick, visibly pleased with himself. "Grandpa's still got it!"

He thrust again with a little more force. Morty's whole body tensed as his prostate was speared.

"Hnh!" was one of the few sounds Morty could make as Rick began to fuck him at a nice, steady pace. It still hurt, but in a lot of ways, the pain only served to enhance the pleasure that came with every last one of Rick's skillful thrusts.

Even with Rick buried inside of him, Morty could hardly believe that this was real. Fantasies and masturbation were nothing next to the real thing. He belonged here, beneath his grandfather, whimpering with gratitude for the opportunity to submit to his ultimate authority. He loved the sight of Rick looming over him, and the way his body felt between his legs. He loved how Rick gritted his teeth and grunted with pleasure from being inside of him. He loved the power and confidence that radiated from Rick with every word he spoke and action he took. And most of all, he loved, loved, _loved_ Rick!

"How's this, baby?" said Rick, licking his lips. "You like that?"

_"Yes!"_ cried Morty, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back against the bed. It was so, _so_ big. Every movement left him feeling like he was on the verge of splitting apart, but in the best possible way. "Please, grandpa Rick, fuck me harder! I-I-I wanna bleed for you!"

"You want harder, I'll give you harder," murmured Rick, his movements growing a little more forceful as per Morty's fervent request. His pale face had gone flush with color, and sweat dripped from his brow down to Morty below. "God, you're so fucking good, Morty. Mm, yeah, look at you, taking grandpa's cock like a fucking champ!"

"Please, _harder!"_ begged Morty once again, blinded by tears once again, albeit tears of pleasure instead of pain. He could feel orgasm rapidly getting closer with every passing moment of his heavenly subjugation. His back arched, his toes curled, and his heart pounded as he passionately pled for more. "Oh, _oh,_ fuck! Don't ever let me forget that I'm yours! _Please,_ Rick, mark me forever!"

"Oh, I'll give you a mark, all right," said Rick lecherously.

Morty jerked in surprise as his grandfather leaned down to press his lips to his shoulder, then cried out in alarm as his teeth clamped down around his flesh with more than enough force to bruise. It wasn't until a solid moment had passed that he finally unclenched his jaw. A hickey? Not exactly a 'forever' mark, but it was still a mark from _Rick,_ and that alone made it beyond precious. Besides, Rick couldn't exactly brand or tattoo him like the filthy cattle he was without supplies.

"I'm so close, Rick!" said Morty desperately. He just couldn't hold it back anymore. It was all just too much for him to take.

"Damn, for real? Hands-free?" said Rick, looking even prouder of this than he'd been of his rapid discovery of Morty's prostate. "Let's see if we can't finish you off like that."

Morty's eyes rolled upwards as the merciless hammering of his spot left him tottering along the brink of climax, no longer capable of any coherent speech beyond "oh," "yes," and "Rick." It was a tortuously amazing state to be trapped in, robbing him of any desire except the overwhelming need to reach the peak just inches from his grasp.

"Easy, baby, grandpa's gonna get you there," said Rick, but Morty could hardly even comprehend his words anymore.

After what felt like an eternity of pleasurable torment, one final thrust gave Morty the final push he needed. He cried out as the sweet release of orgasm spread from his groin to the rest of his body in one final, powerful wave of absolute bliss.

As it ended, Morty was left panting and gasping for air; it seemed he'd forgotten to breathe. Oops.

He turned his bleary eyes downwards, expecting to have to apologize for coating Rick in cum, but there was none to be had. "Wait, what-"

"Relax, Morty, that's- It's normal for prostate orgasms to be dry," said Rick. Morty winced as Rick thrust into him once more, the pleasure no longer masking the pain quite as fully as it had before. "Trust me, it's a good thing. No cum means no refractory period, Morty."

"Re- What?"

"The time you have to wait before you can have another orgasm, Morty. Jesus, do I need to make you some flash cards?" said Rick. He carefully scrutinized Morty's face. "Yeah, refractory period or not, you look done for the day. Hang on a second."

Morty flinched as Rick pulled out with a wet 'pop.'

"Wait, but what about you?" said Morty, moving to sit up straight only to cry out and collapse back onto his back. It felt like someone had left a spear inside his ass that would stab him if he put too much weight on it. "I-I-I can keep going! You don't have to-"

"Morty, chill," said Rick, tucking his still-hard dick away as best as he was able. "I'll jerk it later. Let's get you cleaned up first."

"But-"

"When you get to be my age, you'll start to understand that you don't always have to cum to have good sex," insisted Rick. "I mean, yeah, it helps, I'm not gonna lie, but it isn't mandatory."

Morty deflated as Rick began putting his clothes back on. There was no way that was true. Rick was clearly just trying to mask his disappointment in Morty's failure. How could he have been so foolish? He'd just done the same thing he'd accused the prostitute of doing; valuing his own pleasure above Rick's! In the throes of heated sex, it had just been so easy to forget his primary directive! How could he be so _stupid?_

"Are we gonna do that again?" asked Morty. He had to have another chance. He had to make this right!

"If you're up for it? Hell yeah," said Rick, taking a tissue to soak up what remained of the lube dripping from Morty's thoroughly-abused hole. Morty hissed involuntarily; that whole area was still a little tender. "Just you wait, Morty. I'm gonna show you entirely new worlds of pleasure, both figuratively _and_ literally."

Morty swallowed and nodded. So he was getting another chance, but it seemed like the tests ahead would be even greater than this one in order to allow him to fully make up for this disaster. As he struggled to roll off the bed and get dressed, Morty resolved that next time, he would not allow himself to be tempted by his own desires. No, next time, he would provide _perfect_ service.

* * *

 

That had gone about as perfectly as Rick could have hoped.

Rick whistled as he showered. Sure, maybe his dick hadn't gotten off, but his ego sure had. He'd just fucked a complete anal virgin into a hands-free orgasm. That took _skill.  
_ And honestly, the sight of Morty beneath him, not only needing him, but _begging_ for him, had more than made up for the nonexistent finale.

If he'd wanted to, he had no doubt that Morty would have allowed him to finish up, but his grandson had clearly been sore, and for as sadistic as Rick could be at times, he didn't want to further skew Morty's already fucked up ideas about what sex was supposed to be. All that self-sacrificial shit was a recipe for disaster the second they entered kinkier territory. It was all well and good if Morty liked a little pain, but Rick wasn't about to try anything of the sort until he could trust Morty to be honest about his limits.

Rick turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He would have to get something to numb Morty up while he recovered. Much as he liked the thought of fucking someone so hard that they could barely stand, Summer would be home within the hour, and Jerry could get back even sooner than that. While he could probably come up with a lie that would keep Beth and Jerry off of his back, Summer was already suspicious of him, and Rick couldn't have her putting the pieces together.

He reached for the phone he'd left by the sink to check the time only to notice a text from Erica.

_'So?'_ was all it said.

Rick sighed and tapped out a reply. Talk about nosy.

_'Yes, I popped his cherry, and no, he didn't bleed. Don't you have anything better to do than message me all the time?'_

_'What can I say? This shit is way more entertaining when it's happening to someone else,'_ texted Erica. _'You really should have made him bleed, though. Don't come crying to me if he starts begging you to punish him for fucking up. Again.'_

Rick opted to dress himself and pocket the phone without sending a response. He knew that it could very well be futile to continue trying to redirect Morty towards something resembling a normal relationship at this point, but he had to at least try, right?

…Right?

Come to think of it, why _did_ he care so much about having a 'normal' relationship? If Morty wanted to give Rick everything he had, why not just take it? What was motivating him to fix this when it would be so much easier to just selfishly indulge himself? Rick took a good, long look at himself in the fogged-up mirror as he considered this.

Oh, right, of course. It was because of that stupid little chemical reaction that the uneducated masses called 'love.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this; I swear, I have never had this much trouble writing a chapter. I spent hours on five freaking paragraphs. I'm still not super satisfied with the result, but at this point, much like an assignment for school, I just don't want to work on it anymore. :D
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I sincerely appreciate feedback of all kinds.
> 
> (Fun Fact: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot! Eheh. Oops.)


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